You Can't Go Home Again
by ripped fuel
Summary: Brad loves Nate. Nate is oblivious.
1. Chapter 1

When he gets back from the war, the people and things he fought valiantly to protect look like a Picasso painting. All the parts are there but everything feels so incongruent and hastily pasted together that Nate doesn't feel connected to anything. He looks upon his former self with scorn because he feels as disconnected from that Liberal Arts Fuck as he does from the rest of the world. The irony that he went to war to make the world he now hates a better place doesn't escape him. He knows the only thing that's different is that his perspective has changed but he can't help feeling resentful as he watches civilians carry on with their lives as if nothing is different. He listens as they grumble about traffic, smog and rain and fantasizes about pounding their faces in with the butt of his rifle until they are a pulverized mess on the ground.

He hates that he hates them. He hates that in his mind they have become "them" and that he now feels the same revulsion for every single one of them that he felt for the fucking insurgents who wanted him dead. He's not so far gone that this inability to distinguish between the two doesn't worry him so he busies himself with paperwork and writing well-deserved commendations for his men. Pendleton is the only place where he doesn't feel out-of-place, where his anger doesn't consume him, where he feels a small ounce of the humanity he felt before this war completely fucked him up.

He knows he should seek out help but he's not exactly sure what for. Plenty of people hate the world, some of them even turn that disillusionment into a best-selling novel, award-winning song, or highly-sought after piece of art. What would he say to the Marine shrink anyway? Hey, I know you have men who tried suicide or drink and do drugs because of what they did and saw out there but if you have a few minutes, I need help because I hate people.

Most of his men have finished with their post-deployment duties so he doesn't see them. Nate hopes they are attending barbeques and family reunions befitting their new status as war heroes. He has a hard time seeing himself as one though, even going as far as to lash out at his sister who introduced him to her new boyfriend as "my baby brother, though I suppose I should stop calling him that now that he's a war hero." He hasn't yelled at her like that since they were kids, and even then it was nothing like this. Nate knows he scared her and the rest of his family. They're all worried about him now. He hates himself for that.

He hates that he's become a cliché. The nice boy who went away to a war and came back consumed with anger and self-doubt. It's the latter that bothers him the most. He thinks about every single moment in Iraq over and over and wonders if he was a good officer. He thinks he should have been more aggressive and follows that up thinking that maybe he was too aggressive and that's why two kids and Pappy were shot. He hates himself for that too.

When all the reports have been filed and there's no more paperwork to occupy his time, his doubts start to consume him. A promotion to captain does little to suppress his insecurities, in fact, they make them worse. He knows he won't find peace until he gets some kind of assurance from someone who matters that he did a good job and convinces himself that's the only reason he looks up Brad's personal information and writes it down on a sticky note embossed with First Recon's insignia.

He intends to call Brad after supper but instead does the dishes, folds a load of laundry and calls his sister. The next night it's grocery shopping and vacuuming, the night after that it's cleaning out the pantry and donating some old clothing. His indecisiveness frustrates him. Not only does it go against all his training as a Recon Marine and an as Officer but it isn't logical. He and Brad have spoken on numerous occasions. Nate-Before-The-War was confident and self-assured and never agonized over phoning anyone. Nate-After-The-War would rather scrub his toilet than make a simple call. Jesus, Nate thinks, I went away to war and turned into a goddamn pussy.

The number stays stuck to his fridge for a few weeks before he builds up the courage to call. He dials quickly before he can change his mind and waits, heart pounding in his chest.

Brad picks up after the second ring. "Hello."

With all his stress over making the phone call Nate hadn't thought beyond dialling those numbers. Now that he has Brad on the line, he doesn't know what to do. He swears under his breath but can't find his words.

"Hello?" There is an edge to Brad's voice this time.

"Uhh.. Hi." Nate's voice comes out higher than usual and it reminds him of puberty, when everything was fucking awkward. He thinks that this is much worse.

"Uhh, hi to you too." Nate can't help but smile at Brad's familiar mocking tone. It's oddly reassuring.

"Brad, it's Nate. Nate Fick."

"Jesus, I was going to hang up. I thought you were a fucking telemarketer. I just got my fucking phone hooked up again and I wondered how they got a hold of it so quickly."

"Am I catching you at a bad time?"

"Hm, you're keeping me from a rather rousing episode of Fear Factor where honest, hard-working Americans are attempting to outlast each other inside a tear gas chamber. Remember those gas attacks we were so worried about? These people do it for fun. This is what we fought for Captain Fick, freedom, dignity and the American way. It's rather touching, really. While we were out in Iraq, sweating in MOPP suits fearing a chemical attack, our American brothers and sisters were willingly sitting in a fucking chamber filled with tear gas, all for a cool fifty-kay. Doesn't it warm your heart to know that our President sent us to war for this?"

"I never thought I'd live to see that day that the Iceman questioned President Bush." He hopes Brad can hear the affection in his voice.

Brad laughs. "I'm not questioning him. I'm questioning why anyone would want to sit in a tear gas chamber or eat unhatched chickens. If they're that interested in that kind of shit they should just join the Marines. That's fucking Fear Factor exemplified and you get paid every two weeks."

"You don't making reality TV money in the Marines. And what about the people who don't win, they're pretty much fucked."

"Hm," Brad sighs. "Kinda like were were the entire time?"

"Shit," Nate laughs. "You're right. Fear Factor is the Marines."

"Told you."

They lapse into easy conversation, finally get around to talking in a way that the stress of war wouldn't allow, about their families, welcome home parties, an endless supply of food, clean clothes and the utter joy of that first private shower. They laugh over the Rolling Stone articles and Brad confides in Nate that he worried he'd come off as a massive douchebag, not because he cares what strangers think, but because that would piss off his mother. "She adores me," Brad tells Nate. "If Rolling Stone wrote anything contrary to that opinion, I'm pretty sure she'd kill him, or at least show up at the offices and cause a scene."

"I think I'd like to see that," Nate says. He's never met Brad's mother but if he's anything like the son she raised, Nate knows she's a firepower.

"So, if is a courtesy call to tell me you're leaving the Corps that news has been around the gossip mill so many times it's looser than a 60 year-old whore."

Nate pauses. There was a reason he called Brad but he doesn't feel like getting into that now. He enjoyed talking to Brad, he feels good and want to hang on to that feeling as long as he can. He tells Brad that this is just a social call and suddenly feels like shit all over again. He's never lied to one of his men before and doesn't like how this makes him feel. "I should go," he mumbles gloomily.

"Sure. I can reach you at this number?" Brad asks.

"What?"

"There's a wonderful invention that displays a caller's number on your phone. I would think that as a Recon Marine, you would know about this?"

Nate glares into the phone. "I am aware of what caller ID is Brad."

"Good. So I can reach you at this number then?"

"Yes." Nate says gritting his teeth.

Brad laughs and ends the call before Nate can say good night. Nate hangs up feeling out-of-sorts. Brad was friendly and seemed happy to hear from him. Nate's assured that wouldn't be the case if he had been a bad leader. He's also fairly certain Brad only did that number ID thing to fuck with him so doesn't expect to hear from Brad. He's more than surprised when Brad calls him the following evening. Nate can hear Brad eating as he bitches about episodes of 24 that he missed.

"Americans watch this shit and consider this their world news for the week. People in the rest of the world think we're out there doing shit like this to decent people who are trying to live their lives. This is why they fucking hate us. Can you imagine if we tortured people like this, even terrorists?"

"I used to love that show," Nate offers as he cracks open a bottle of beer. "I can't stand it anymore. Jack Bauer's voice is too similar to Godfather's. I keep expecting to hear orders that our mission has changed."

"At least it's not Sixta yelling at you about grooming standards."

"Jesus Christ, Brad. If I wake up from nightmares about that tonight I'm calling you."

Brad tries for a Sixta impression but it gets lost in uncontrollable laughter. Nate imagines Brad sitting on his couch in board shorts, clutching a can of beer in his fist, untouched from the perils of their war, not so much the Iceman stateside, just a regular guy enjoying a Wednesday evening at home.

"I hear you're almost packed up and ready to head out," Brad says, his laughter finally subsiding after several unsuccessful attempts at a Sixta impersonation. "Any plans for the afterlife?"

"I'm not dying, Jesus." Nate frowns.

"Afterlife, life after the Corps, it's all the same thing. It's like a second chance right? You have the luxury of time now that you're a civilian again. You should take advantage of that. No one's life is at risk if you don't make a quick decision."

"Lots of veterans never do anything with their lives because they think that way." Nate's pretty sure Brad wouldn't appreciate his Nate-Before-The-War and Nate-After-The-War distinctions so doesn't bring it up.

"You watch too many depressing post-war movies," Brad huffs. "I don't think you need to worry about drifting sir. You're too motivated to allow a war to become the thing that defines your life. Besides, Lieutenant Dan became a multi-millionaire and he was just a lieutenant. Imagine what a former captain can do."

"Are you really trying to give me advice from the movie that had 'stupid is as stupid does' as one of its better known quotes?"

"That's what you picked up from the movie? I thought you Liberal Arts majors were supposed to be more astute than that."

"Classics, Brad, not Film Studies."

"Is that supposed to be better?"

"Just for that I'm adding write screenplay to my list of potential career choices."

"You have an actual list don't you?"

"I refuse to answer that."

"Testing your evasive skills, I see."

"The Marines did train me well."

"And now you're leaving us."

Nate groans silently. Though he knows leaving is the right decision, part of him feels as if he's abandoning his men. The guilt of that weighs on him. "I know since I'm not leaving for something else it feels like I'm just leaving. I'm not running out to make a point to Command. I just ... I can't stay."

"I shouldn't have said that. It was unprofessional. I know you have to but I'm sorry to see you leave. You were one of the good ones. We lose too many like you."

Nate sucks in a breath. "You mean that?"

"I've never kissed your ass, sir. I don't intend to start now."

Nate hesitates and takes a long sip of beer. "I wonder sometimes if I did a good job, you know? I know you guys liked me, but that doesn't mean I was a good officer. It's not a popularity contest."

"You were promoted to captain. We had no say in that."

"I don't think we can use the rank of captain as a measurement for success as an officer."

"Sir, our company commander was someone who has no business being out there. He had no experience and didn't want to listen to anyone with an alternate point of view. You took a lot of shit from him because you used your brain instead of just following his orders. If you had, some of would have come back dead. As for your less than esteemed colleague in Bravo Three, he was fucked up before we even left. He never should have been approved for combat. Command chose to ignore that."

Nate opens his mouth to object but changes his mind. Talking to Brad makes him realize the only person who can help him come to terms with his doubts is himself. Dragging Brad into this would only result in an endless debate. Brad would certainly be up for that but Nate's not sure he has the energy. "Ok," he says finally. "Thanks."

"Is that why you called?"

"You're slipping, Sergeant. You called me, remember?"

"I meant last night." When Nate doesn't say anything, Brad laughs. "That's it, isn't it? You bought into Encino Man's bullshit and Casey Kasem's over-inflated ego and think you fucked up."

"Self-doubt is perfectly natural Brad. Some say it's even human."

"Bullshit. It's a fucking weakness. Don't let those ass fucks take anything away from you," Brad sounds pissed off now. "Do not let them do that."

Nate doesn't know what to say. He feels ashamed. He's a Recon Marine. He's supposed to be stronger than this. He never wanted Brad to see the Nate-After-The-War side of him. Nate doesn't like that guy. He expects Brad likes him even less. "I should go," Nate stutters. He needs to end this call before everything spirals out of control.

"Now that you're no longer an officer, we could hang out," Brad says, clearly ignoring Nate.

"I don't need you to check up on me."

"Have supper sometime or meet up for a few pints," Brad continues, obviously ignoring Nate.

"Okay, I could meet up for drinks," Nate agrees because he knows he won't win this round and he kind of wants to meet Brad for drinks. When the Iceman has his mind made up, nothing will deter him from his mission.

Friday night is Nate's official last day so they make arrangements to meet on Saturday. Even though they don't need to worry about officer-subordinate fraternization rules anymore, Nate notices that Brad picks a place that's quite far away from Pendleton where the chances of running into anyone they know is non-existent. He's not sure why that makes him happy, but he can't wait for the week to wrap up so he can hang out with Brad.


	2. Chapter 2

The remainder of the week passes far too slowly for Nate's liking. It's all the stuff he hates about being an officer, useless paper work, senseless meetings, and unaffectionate back-slapping. Nate loves the Marines but his last few days prove he would have been miserable pushing pencils at a cushy desk job that waited for him had he elected to stay.

One of the few things Nate looks forward other than his nightly chats with Brad are the random text message Brad sends throughout the day, casual things like _This cashier has a piercing in her eyelid. _and_ Anything good at the mess hall today?_ and _Encino Man is at the market w his family. Cute kids. _

Most of the time, Nate doesn't respond. There's not really much to say to Brad's randomness and Nate's never been much of a texter. He replied once but only found himself getting frustrated with the 140 character limit that restricted what he could say. After exchanging 30 text messages joking about Person buying his girlfriend a chiuawa, he called Brad. Texting was designed for succinct messages, not his lengthy conversations with Brad.

Nate wakes up early on Saturday morning and goes for a run. He feels so good that he follows that with a swim and grabs a strawberry mango smoothie on the way home. It's still early so the beach is still relatively empty and Nate walks home barefoot, sneakers in one hand, smoothie in the other and tries not to look at his feet that still haven't completely healed though they've been back for almost six weeks.

When he gets home he has a text message from Brad detailing the address of the bar that supposedly has the best chicken wings in town. He showers and wakes up naked in his bed several hours later. He's starving so he makes a sandwich and decides to call his sister.

He's called every few days since his disastrous welcome home barbeque. She still hasn't picked up but Nate always calls anyway, leaving rambling messages on her voicemail. He knows he doesn't deserve her forgiveness but he needs it. She picks up this time though and Nate stumbles into an apology, begging forgiveness and promising he'll never yell at her like that again.

"I still don't even know why you were that upset," she says. "That bothered me the most."

Nate explains that he doesn't like being called a hero but he knows he overreacted. "Nothing I did out there was heroic. It didn't make any kind of difference. I think we actually made it worse."

"How do you know? Change usually takes time. We might not see it happen for decades. Did you go in thinking you'd fix everything for the Iraqi people in one tour of duty?"

"Not everything," Nate says glumly. "But I hoped we'd change something."

"You don't know what Iraq will be like years from now. Keep hoping baby bro. Some asshole once told me that hope is the mark of humanity." Nate laughs. He was that asshole. He said that to her after one of her friends was killed by a drunk driver. He had gone looking for her and found her drunk and distraught in a bar. It took time but eventually she pulled herself together. Maybe things will be okay after all, Nate thinks.

"I miss you," he says.

"Dad said it was your last day on yesterday. Does this mean you're better now?" She sounds hopeful and Nate knows she just wants her brother back.

"It's not that black and white, Sandy." He wishes it were though. If there's anyone Nate wants to be normal again for, it's her.

"I know," she says, not bothering to hide the sadness in her voice. "When you were gone, we spent all this time hoping and praying you'd come back. What do we pray for now that you are back and things aren't the way they were before?"

"I don't know."

Sandy sighs. "I know that war changes people. They sent us papers and documents about the effects after war," Her voice is softer now. "We poured over them. Mom could tell you everything that's on them word-for-word. Maybe it was naïve, but we hoped none of that would touch you. It breaks my heart that it did."

"I'm sorry. This won't last forever." Nate winces when he sees the time. He needs to meet Brad in one hour. "I'm running late. I gotta go Sandy."

"Hot date?" she teases.

"Just meeting one of my Marines for drinks."

"I'm glad you're getting out." She sounds relieved.

"Did you think I was sitting at home moping the entire time?"

"I wasn't sure but I hoped you weren't."

"It'll be okay, Mands. I promise, okay?"

"Okay."

Nate promises to call in a few days and then hurries to get ready. He wants to get to the bar early so he can scope out the place before settling in for the evening, though there's no reason for recon in the relative safety of quiet bar in San Diego. He showers again, because after going over a month without one, he tries to shower as often as he can. He still loves the feel of the water as it first hits his face and he wonders if he'll ever lose that feeling. He hopes he never does.

He arrives with ten minutes to spare but Brad is already there, hunched over a magazine. It's the first time he's seen Brad since the barbeque at Mike Wynn's house and Nate is content to watch as Brad reads. Whatever it is certainly has Brad's attention. He's mumbling to himself – probably insulting whoever wrote the column, Nate guesses – while holding a red pen in his right hand and occasionally circling and underling things he deems important. Sunglasses rest on his head and he's dressed baggy shorts, flip-flops, and a faded Star Wars t-shirt that makes Nate smile. Only Brad Colbert would be comfortable enough to show up to a bar on Saturday night with Yoda on his shirt.

Nate walks over quietly, being careful not to be heard, and slides into the seat across from Brad. "I'm looking for a great warrior," he says, without preamble.

Brad looks up and grins with approval at Nate's greeting. "A wise master once said that wars not make one great. However, it just so happens that I was born great."

"The size of your ego never ceases to amaze me, Brad."

"You know, someone said that to me last night, but it wasn't the size of my ego that was amazing."

"You spent half the night talking to me and then you fell asleep, which is rather rude I might add. So when did you have time to fit in a quick fuck?"

"Must've been you then," Brad smirks.

"Jesus," Nate blushes.

Brad grins again. "How are you doing, sir?"

Of course it's at that very moment when the waitress arrives to the table to take their order. From the look on her face, Nate guesses she only heard Brad address him as sir. He shoots a look at Brad who is sitting with palms flat on the table, his head bowed slightly. It takes Nate half as second to realize what Brad is doing and another half a second to become mortified. He's certain his face is beet red and he silently curses everything from agreeing to meet Brad for drinks to the day Brad was born.

The waitress, Sasha, looks at Brad's posture and then back at Nate and raises an eyebrow. Nate opens his out to yell out that she's wrong, this isn't want she thinks, but nothing comes out. He decides his best course of action is to kick Brad under the table but of course Brad doesn't move or react.

"Fucking Iceman," Nate glowers. The fucker is enjoying this. He's probably hoping Nate will panic and die of embarrassment. Nate grits his teeth. He refuses to let Brad win.

Sasha looks him questioningly. "I can come back later."

"No, it's fine. I'll have a pint of Sierra Nevada. He'll," Nate points at Brad but doesn't look at him, "have a glass of tomato juice."

Nate feels victorious when he sees Brad's lips twitch into a smile. Sasha nods and makes a hasty retreat to the bar. Seconds later she's whispering in the bartender's ear and then two sets of wide eyes are on their table.

"You're a fucking asshole, Colbert."

"I know," Brad agrees with a sly grin. "But I'm a charming asshole which makes everyone love me all the more."

"Fuck off."

At that, Brad's grin gets even wider, amusement all over his face. "I wasn't sure you had the balls to pull that off, being the choir boy that you are."

"I'm not the one being ushered around by a leash around my dick."

Brad makes the unnecessary point of looking down at his crotch and then slowly looking back up at Nate. "I don't have a leash around my dick."

"Ahh, but when the bar staff tell this story, I'm pretty certain they'll add that in."

Brad just shakes his head. "Just so you know, the rouse ends here. I plan to drink tonight."

"That's a shame," Nate says. "I was hoping I'd get to stick a ball gag in your mouth."

"So that's what you're into then?"

Nate knows he's openly gaping at Brad. It's the second time in a matter of minutes that Brad has caught him off guard. Their little game is going a lot further than he thought it would. Thankfully Sasha reappears with their drinks so Nate doesn't have to answer. She startles when Brad orders a Samuel Adams, and she turns her back to Brad and mouths "is that okay?" at Nate. Behind her Brad snickers and Nate has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. He manages a nod but can't bring himself to make eye contact. Sasha walks away, even more dazed than before, and this time both Brad and Nate break out in laughter.

Brad grabs Nate's beer and takes a long sip. "I think we traumatized her, sir."

"You think you might try calling me Nate? People are going to think I have a dungeon in my basement."

Brad cocks his head to the side and looks at Nate quizzically. "I wouldn't be surprised. You have that wide-eyed innocence about you. That usually means something dark and dirty." He winks and takes another sip of Nate's beer. When Sasha returns with his pint a few minutes later, Brad orders a basket of chicken wings.

"So, how was your last day?" Brad asks between gulps of beer.

"Filled with formal bullshit. Return this. Sign this. Fill out this. Blah blah blah fucking blah. I met up with the CO for an exit interview. He talked about the stress of war and leaving 'certain things' on the battlefield. Sixta dropped by too. He said since I was no longer in the Marines I could tell the truth about what happened when Person's face was burned."

"What did you say?" Brad looks more irritated than amused.

"I told him the truth was in my official report and offered to print him a copy. He called me a cocky bastard and wished me best."

"That motherfucker. If it's not fucking grooming standards in the middle of a fucking war it's second-guessing your fucking report. He's not leaving you know. He'd fucking use that against us if he ever got the opportunity. Power hungry whisky tango fuck."

"He wasn't that bad Brad. His job was to keep everyone focused and disciplined. He did that."

"Still trying to keep the peace? You don't need to play the middle man anymore."

Nate nods. "Hindsight, Brad, but I'm not saying his actions didn't make me want to disembowel him at the time. I don't want to talk about Sixta though. Change of subject please?"

Brad decides to show Nate what he had been reading. Nate suppresses a giggle when he discovers that it was _Wired_. Brad practically foams at the mouth when talking about modifications he wants to make to tower he ordered online. Nate asks why he wouldn't just order the computer with everything already built-in and almost chokes on a piece of chicken when Brad shoots him an Iceman glare. "It needs my special touch," Brad insists.

Several pints and baskets of chicken wings later, they decide to leave. Outside, they lean against Nate's car and enjoy the warm southern California breeze. "So how are you doing, really?" Brad asks.

"You actually sound concerned."

Brad sighs angrily. "You know, I'm getting really tired of people thinking that I'm a heartless bastard."

Nate cringes. He doesn't like being the object of Brad's anger. "I didn't mean to imply that. I know you're not. I know. Why'd you ask it like that though? Do I look that fucked up?"

"No, you just don't seem like yourself. You seem ... I dunno," Brad shakes his head and waves a hand in the air. "You seem off-centre. That's the best way I can describe it."

"I don't think you know me well enough to say that. What you saw out there, that's not really me."

"I know enough," Brad insists. "Probably more than people in your life who weren't there."

"Yea," Nate sighs. "Maybe you do."

"So? You gonna answer the question?"

Nate shakes his head. "Not as fucked up as I could be, I guess."

"We're all a little fucked up anyway, right?"

"I just… Yesterday I had to walk out of Starbucks because I thought I was going to break this guy's nose when he complained about the lack of foam on his half-fat latte. Fucking foam like it was the end of the fucking world."

"There's nothing wrong with hating people, especially stupid fucks who drink half-fat lattes with foam." Brad wrinkles his nose in disgust.

Nate shakes his head. "It's not the first time I've had to restrain myself because someone pissed me off. If it's not the grocery store or getting cut off in traffic it's my fucking neighbours. What if I can't stop myself next time?"

"You're one of the most level-headed people I've ever met."

Nate huffs. "Yea, that's what my ex said when she dumped me two weeks ago. Although when she said it, it was with much more venom."

"What happened?"

"She said she wanted out and I said okay and stood up to leave because that's what she wanted, right? Then she called me a level-headed asshole. Apparently, I was supposed to fight her on it, fight for her."

"Oh," Brad shakes his head. "Why didn't you?"

"I'm fucking tired of fighting, Brad."

"You love her though, right? Send roses, beg her forgiveness. It'll all work out."

Nate rubs his forehead. He's not sure if he wants to be in a relationship right now. He was actually a bit relieved when he got dumped. "I don't know."

"She was probably just scared and lashed out. I'm not justifying what she did but it can't be easy to wait for someone who's gone to a war."

"I'm not that guy she loved anymore."

"Ahh, is that why you're hiding out here instead of going back?"

"Maybe. Maybe I just want people to stop looking at me with sad eyes as though I'm lost." Nate stretches his arms above his head and catches sight of the time on his watch. It's much later than he expected. "I should go," he says after a while.

He goes to unlock his car but stops when Brad squeezes his arm. "You're always saying that."

Nate gulps. "That's because it's usually time to go."

"Have supper with me tomorrow. I'll cook."

"I don't need you to take care of me."

"I would never insult you like that," Brad tightens his grip on Nate's arm and Nate feels the air change around them. He refuses to look up at Brad. He closes his eyes and tries to even out his breathing.

"Chef Boyardee doesn't constitute cooking Sergeant."

Brad doesn't take the bait but instead tightens his grip on Nate's arm. Nate knows he'll have bruises there tomorrow. When he looks up and meets Brad's eyes, he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He's not sure what he sees in Brad's eyes, but it's disconcerting. This isn't the Brad knows. This isn't the Iceman looking back at him. He's not sure what to think. They stare at each other for a while, neither willing to back down from whatever this standoff has become.

"Nate," Brad whispers in his ear. It's the first time Nate hears his first name on Brad's lips and it makes him lose all sense of control.

"I like fish," is all he manages to say.

"Good," Brad releases his grip on Nate's arm and stands up straight. He throws a leg over his bike and straps his helmet to his head. "I'll expect you no later than 1900." Before Nate can respond, Brad starts up his bike and takes off, leaving Nate staring after him in a trail of dust.


	3. Chapter 3

Nate stops off at Starbucks on his way home. He's not worried about the caffeine, he's pretty sure he won't be sleeping anyway and he's right. He spends the night trying to figure out Brad. Nate knows Brad doesn't do anything unless there's a purpose, but what purpose would Brad have for wanting to cook him supper? As hard as he tries, he can't put his finger on it and when his alarm goes off at seven the following morning, Nate hasn't slept at all, which only adds to the apprehension he's felt since returning from Iraq.

Instead of getting up for his usual workout, he lies in bed watches TV. He drags himself out of bed a few hours later and drinks coffee while pouring over notes and patrol logs from Iraq. He's thinking about writing a book but he's not sure if wants to revisit any part of his Iraq experience, let alone get into enough details to write a book. He believes he could do it though, write something that would showcase the mental strength and dignity of the men who he will always consider his men. He wants to do it for them too so he pushes his own discomfort aside and transcribes some of his notes onto a word document, pausing only to refill his cup of coffee and then stopping when his stomach grumbles with hunger.

He decides to grab a chicken wrap at one of the shacks on the beach. He leaves his shirt and sneakers at home this time and walks barefoot, wriggling his toes in the sand. A few people smile at him when they catch sight of his regulation haircut, one guy shakes his hand, and a small child hugs his leg and says thank you. He sits outside and eats his free chicken wrap -– the owner had flat out refused his money saying that $5.50 was small payment his sacrifice -– and revels in the serenity he feels. He didn't go to war with the intention of reaping benefits when he got back, _if he got even back_, but these are the people that made everything he saw out there, everything he still sees, worthwhile.

He gets back later than he expected, feeling better than he has in a long time. He showers and stands in front of his closet for twenty minutes before he decides what to wear. He's not sure if he should go for shorts and a t-shirt like Brad had worn last night or something nicer. He laughs when he remembers that just six weeks ago he was running around in desert cammies. He shakes his head thinking he must be really fucked up if he thinks life was much simpler when he didn't have to make fashion decisions. He picks out grey chinos and an olive green t-shirt and dresses before he can change his mind, ignoring the voice in his head that asks why he's so stressed about having supper with Brad.

Nate knocks on Brad's door at exactly 1900 clutching a bottle of red wine. In the 30 minute drive to get to Brad's place, Nate forgets that he's not supposed to be nervous. By the time he pulls into Brad's driveway, he's as nervous as he was the first time his now ex-girlfriend invited him to her place for the first time. The mystery of the then known (Nate was confident he was getting laid) and unknown (they hadn't fucked yet) heightening his senses. This isn't a date, though and Nate chides for getting so messed up over Brad.

"Hey," Brad is wiping his hands on a dish rag. Nate ignores the flutter in his stomach when Brad squeezes his arm and ushers him inside. "I was wondering if you were going to sit in your car all night."

Nate blushes as he toes off his shoes. He hoped Brad hadn't seen him sitting in his car. "You said seven," Nate points to the clock on Brad's wall, hoping to take attention away from the red in his cheeks. "It's seven."

"I said no later than seven. I didn't mean for you to sit in your car for 15 minutes like a damn stalker."

"Sorry," Nate purses his lips. "I was just trying to interpret your orders to the best of my ability."

"You know that doing that only gets you into trouble, Nate."

Nate follows Brad into the kitchen and takes in his surroundings. It's not at all what he expected from the Iceman. Brad's place is warm and inviting. Nate doesn't know why he's surprised that Brad's home looks like something that would be featured in a home décor magazine when the man himself looked like a Nordic god even when he hadn't showered in 30 days. Right now, Brad is barefoot and Nate can smell the hint cologne as he bustles around the kitchen. Nate isn't used to seeing Brad in civvies. He's clean shaven, which isn't unusual, but he's wearing a black polo neck shirt with the buttons undone, his slender jeans are form-fitting and hang low on his hips. If Nate didn't know better, he'd swear Brad put an effort into getting ready. He pushes that thought out of his mind quickly because one, this is Brad and two, _this is Brad_.

"I thought we could eat out back," Brad says, as he opens the bottle of wine Nate doesn't remember handing over. "I know all we did out there was eat outside, but my backyard has a great view of the beach and I promise it's nothing like the Iraqi desert."

Nate nods his agreement. "What's for supper?"

"Well honey," Brad steps back and drawls, "today I slaved away to make you a baked salmon in a cucumber sauce with grilled asparagus and zucchini. It's a recipe passed down to me from my Great Aunt Internet."

"Definitely not Chef Boyardee."

"I am assured by the good people who left comments on the message board that it's just as good." Brad jokes and turns his attention back to salad preparation.

"It smells great," Nate replies.

"I wanted to smoke it on the barbeque," Brad shakes his head apologetically, "but of course something's wrong with the fucking thing. Natural gas piece of shit." He grabs the salad, plates, and cutlery and gestures at the opened bottle of wine and two glasses. "Can you grab those? The main course will be ready in ten. Let's start with the salad."

Supper is even better than it smells. Nate doesn't know why he's surprised. Of course Brad is a fucking five-star chef. Of course everything Brad Colbert touches turns to fucking gold. Brad probably couldn't fail at something if he tried. Nate inhales everything as if it's his first real meal since getting back and then asks for seconds. He considers a third helping but Brad mentions that he stuck a homemade chocolate pie in the oven and if there's two things from the civilian world Nate loves, it's pie and chocolate.

They need to wait for the pie to finish baking so they sit decide outside and listen to the ocean while drinking sweat tea.

"So what do people do with a degree in Classics if they don't join the Marines?" Brad asks. He's leaning back in the patio chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

Nate shrugs and leans back in his chair, mimicking Brad's relaxed posture. "Get another degree, I think."

"And after that?"

"Probably get another degree and be a professor somewhere." Nate lets out an embarrassed laugh and shakes his head. If he hadn't joined the Marines he'd probably be doing exactly that.

"So they get out of the special hell that's called high school only to stay in school for the rest of their adult lives? Isn't the point of finishing high school to actually, gee, I dunno, be done with school?"

"College isn't that bad."

"I didn't say that it was but I can't see you as a Classics professor. I can't see you being happy if you aren't _doing_."

"You mean being the change I want to see in the world?" Nate jokes.

"Yea," Brad nods. "Exactly. Yea."

"Me either."

"Ancient Babylon was cool though. No one's ever done something like that for us before."

"I think some of the guys would have preferred that I just set up a beer tab."

"No," Brad insists. He sits up and looks at Nate intently. "We can have beer anywhere. Some of those guys will go home and never leave their hometown again, never mind America. That was an experience we'll never forget," he leans back in his chair. "A good experience. I'll never forget it."

Nate flashes a sly smile. He's pleased. "Have you travelled a lot?"

"Here and there, Australia, Thailand, Singapore," Brad trails off with a smirk on his face.

"What kind of scenery were you taking in Brad?"

"Hah," Brad winks. "I've been to Germany too. I visited Dachau. Rented a bike afterwards and rode on the autobahn. That was a rush." Nate winces. He doesn't want to think about how fast Brad had to go to consider that a rush. "Don't worry," Brad continues, seeing Nate's reaction. "I'm invincible and I promised my mother I wouldn't do that again. She claims she finds it easier to deal with me going to war than hear about me driving the autobahn on a bike."

Nate can see her point of view. In war, Brad had other Marines watching his back, men who cared for his safety. Nate doesn't trust those other drivers on the autobahn.

"So, wanna meet my bikes?" Brad asks.

"Meet them? They're not people Brad."

Brad's eyes widen and he lowers his voice to a whisper. "Hush, they might hear you."

Nate wants to roll his eyes but he thinks Brad might be serious. "Ohh-kay, sure I'll meet your bikes."

Brad stands and extends a hand to Nate. "Come on. They're in the garage."

"Ugh, I was comfortable," Nate grumbles as Brad pulls him up and all but drags him to the garage. He has to jog to keep up with Brad's long strides.

He isn't surprised to see that Brad's garage is impeccably tidy. There aren't even any oil spills on the floor, which annoys Nate more than anything, and everything else is arranged neatly along shelves. Brad has three bikes and a truck in his garage. Two of the bikes are sleek and in perfect condition but one looks so much older that Nate wonders if it has a functioning engine. He trails a hand along it thinking it's one of the most beautiful bikes he's ever seen.

"That's my first bike," Brad explains. Nate knows Brad is watching him. "I know it's silly but I can't bear to give her up."

"Your first love, huh?"

Brad smiles and nods. "Yea, something like that."

"So why the two jet skis?"

"Hmm," Brad says absentmindedly. Nate knows Brad is still watching him.

"The jet skis," Nate points. "You have two but that one is pushed in the back."

"You're not supposed to jet ski without a buddy. It's so I can take a buddy."

"But that one is pushed in the back," Nate repeats. When Brad doesn't say anything, Nate turns to look at him. He startles when he sees the look on Brad's face. "What? What'd I say?"

"I bought it for my ex. I told her she could take it when she left but she didn't want it."

"Oh," Nate didn't know Brad had been in a relationship. "Sorry. Was it serious?"

"We were together for," Brad closes his eyes, "about 10 years."

Nate doesn't try to hide his shock. Ten years isn't just any relationship. It's often _the_ relationship. "What happened?"

"It's a rather long and boring story."

"I want to hear it," Nate insists.

"Well, she said she'd rather marry my best friend than me."

Nate gapes. "Wait, you were engaged?" Brad nods. "And she left for your best friend?" Brad nods again. "Jesus fucking Christ, what a fucking clusterfuck."

"You wanna hear something that will really make you laugh?"

"There's a funny part to this story?"

"Our parents are neighbours."

"The girl next door Brad?" Nate shakes his head and laughs when Brad smiles. He didn't think Brad was the girl next door type, let alone the settle down with one person forever type.

"You can't make this stuff up."

"Shit, are you okay?"

Brad waves his hand in the air. "It was years ago. They're married now, have a baby on the way. Did I mention we're all still friends? The only reason I didn't go to their wedding is I was in Afghanistan."

"Oorah, Afghanistan, huh?"

Brad smiles sadly. Nate is relieved to see that there's no pain behind it, just perhaps recognition of a life Brad had wanted, but unfortunately one that wasn't meant to be his. "Oorah," Brad replies. "Oorah."

"But it musta fucking hurt at the time."

"I won't lie. It sucked," Brad takes a step closer to Nate, "but I'm over it now." The look on Brad's face catches Nate off-guard and he stumbles backwards until his back hits the wall. It feels stuffy in the garage all of a sudden. He needs air. He rubs his palms against his pants and tries to step around Brad but Brad grabs his arm shoves him against the wall.

"I think … I think I should go," Nate says, because that always gets him out of these situations with Brad.

"No, you shouldn't."

Nate bites his lips nervously and looks everywhere but at the blue eyes boring into him. His instincts tell him to panic but he reminds himself that this is Brad. There's no threat here. He's over-reacting. There's no threat here. He squeezes his eyes shut, slows his breathing and bites his lip.

Brad groans. "Fuck. You always do that. Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" Nate isn't sure what Brad is talking about. He's not sure about much of anything right now.

"Bite your lip at the most fucking inopportune times. It's fucking distracting Nate. It makes me forget my fucking name."

"It's a twitch —," Nate starts to explain that he's done that almost his entire life, that his mother used to yell at him for it when he was a kid, that his ex-girlfriend fucking hated it too, but Brad cuts him off.

"— that's what makes it fucking distracting. You're not even doing it on purpose and it turns me on more than a stripper shaking her silicone double Ds at me."

"Oh. I don't ... I thought … You like guys?" It's not an accusation. Nate never gave half a shit about that policy when he was a Marine and he certainly doesn't now that he's gone but he's still startled. To him, everything about Brad is uniquely masculine. He admits to sometimes wondering about the sexuality of some of his men, but Brad was never one of them.

Brad puts a warm hand on Nate's waist. "I like you," he says as he slowly slides his hand upwards. "I like your hands and the way you took charge out there and stood up to the CO even though it meant your ass on the line," Nate sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. He should tell Brad to stop, that this is going to be a disaster, but he can't. "I like that I knew 100% that I could trust you, even when you pissed me off. I like that you don't have a fucking clue that we all respected the shit out of you, even the men who weren't in your platoon. You are the most remarkable person I have ever met."

Brad cups Nate's crotch and squeezes. Nate's eyes fly open and he gasps. Encouraged, Brad does it again and then once more. Nate grunts as his hips involuntarily thrust forward. His body hasn't responded like this since before the war. After four failed attempts at sex with his ex and a few failed attempts alone, he had given up trying. He had finally accepted that this part of his life was over. Apparently his dick just wanted Brad Colbert's hand.

It's as if Brad is reading his mind, because he wastes no time in getting Nate's pants undone and shoving his hand inside. Nate closes his eyes as his head thuds against the wall. His hips trust forward again. Uhh," he grunts loudly, not caring if Brad's neighbours hear him.

"I won't stop if you don't tell me to," Brad stills his hand. Nate opens his eyes at the loss of contact and finds Brad looking at him. Brad's eyes are wide and his face is flushed. He looks so turned on, turned on from jacking me, Nate thinks.

When Nate doesn't say anything, Brad starts to pull his hand free and before he can stop himself or even consider what he's doing, Nate grunts, undoes Brad's jeans and shoves his hand inside. He doesn't even try to hide his moan when he finds that Brad is already half-hard and isn't wearing any underwear. He gives an experimental tug and licks his lips when Brad's face slackens with pleasure. Brad wants this, Nate thinks. He wants _me_ to do this. The mere thought makes him shiver.

Brad shoves Nate back against the wall and starts stroking Nate hard and fast. They finish each other off with combat jack effectiveness that is heightened by the fact that they are in Brad's garage and this pleasure isn't coming from their own hands. Nate comes first. It doesn't take long since it's been a while but the force of it catches him off guard. In reaction, he squeezes Brad's dick so hard that Brad shouts his own release so loudly that Nate's certain people heard three blocks away.

"Fuck," Nate shakes and gasps for air. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. What the fuck was that?"

"I think your parents should explain the birds and the bees to you. Or in this case the bees and the bees. Although in this case, I'm not certain the metaphor applies. Would you like to call your parents to find out?"

Nate is still in shock. He stumbles and pulls himself free from Brad's reach. He makes a mad dash for the house and locks himself in the bathroom. He turns the faucet as cold as it can get and splashes water on his face. "Fuck," he says when he catches his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His skin is flushed and his hair is ruffled. His breathing still hasn't evened out so he takes quick breaths, which only makes him looked more like a recently fucked rent boy.

He takes a deep breath and tries to remember what happened. One second he was looking at Brad's bikes and talking about Brad's ex and then he had his hand shoved in Brad's pants. Christ, Nate thinks when he remembers that Brad hadn't been wearing any underwear. Brad had planned on this happening. He had fucking planned this. His face flushes with anger and then embarrassment. He was just another one of the Iceman's conquests. Nate yanks open the door and marches into the kitchen.

The kitchen smells like burned chocolate, but it does nothing to deter Nate's anger. He shoves Brad hard. Brad stumbles back, wincing when his ribs bang into the counter. He looks at Nate, shock followed by disappointment, apparent on this face, which only makes Nate angrier. Brad has no right to be disappointed. He shoves Brad again, but Brad doesn't stumble this time. He stands his ground and shakes his head.

"I guess even you bleeding hearts are prone to the hetero freak out? You just asserted your physical dominance. Are you going to punch me now or maybe find a co-ed to fuck? How about two? I mean there's nothing like fucking two girls at once to reaffirm your heterosexuality, right?"

Nate stutters. Brad has it all wrong. "That's not what this is."

"Oh no?" Brad raises an eyebrow. The action reminds Nate that Brad is the Iceman and that reminds him that he's angry.

"You took advantage of me!"

"I took _advantage_? I asked if you wanted to stop, remember? I was going to stop but you shoved your hand in my pants and touched my dick. I didn't know that was fucking Officer-speak for I don't want this, don't touch me."

"You knew I was fucked up and you fucking planned this. No underwear Brad? You always hang out like that?"

"Not that it's any of your goddamn business, but yea Nate when Uncle Sam isn't telling me what to wear, I like freeballing. And just so you know you didn't have to do anything. I would've been perfectly happy just jerking you off."

"Yea, right." Nate fumes, "you expect me to believe the Iceman didn't want to fucking get off?"

Brad doesn't say anything. He just shakes his head. Nate can tell that Brad is disappointed again but he doesn't care. "I need to get out of here," Nate says.

"Nate. Wait, let's talk about this," Brad pleads as he puts a gentle hand on Nate's arm. His voice is soft and Nate can't deal with the tenderness and raw emotion behind it.

"Fucking let go of me!" Nate takes off without looking over his shoulder, slamming the front door shut for good measure. By the time he gets into his car he's shaking so hard that it takes several tries before he manages to get the door unlocked. He sits down and seethes, banging his fist against the steering wheel over and over. He doesn't care if he gets bruises. He doesn't even care if he breaks his hand.

He startles when Brad knocks on the window. "Roll down the fucking window." Brad isn't pleading anymore and there's no more kindness.

Nate turns and glares. "Fuck you."

"Roll down the mother fucking window immediately or I will bash it in."

Nate can't afford the fees for car repairs so he relents. He still can't focus enough to turn the car on for the automatic windows to work so he opens the door instead. Before he can react, Brad reaches over and snatches the car keys out of his hand.

"Give me back my fucking keys," Nate snaps.

"No. You are too pissed off to drive. If you leave you'll run yourself off the road or run yourself and someone else off the road. You can get your keys back in the morning. Tonight, can walk home or man the fuck up and ask for the cellphone you left on my counter so you can call a cab."

Nate watches as Brad turns and walks back into his house. He slumps in his car and puts his face in his hands. He feels like throwing up. Since he's been back it's been one fuck-up after the other. For the first time since coming back, Nate wishes he were back in Iraq. He thinks that's the most fucked up thought he's had in a while.


	4. Chapter 4

Nate jolts awake when he hears a loud sound in the distance. We're being fucking bombed, he thinks. He whimpers silently when he doesn't hear any of his men running around and calling out to each other and panics thinking everyone is dead. He reaches for his rifle, and when he finds it isn't within reach of his right hand, he cries out and hits his head on the roof of his car. Everything comes rushing back to him in an instant. He's not in Iraq. That sound was just an engine backfiring. His men are fine. Everyone came back relatively safe and sound.

Nate takes deep breaths and rubs the tears from his eyes. His heart is pounding in his chest and he wills himself to get control. It takes him a few seconds to remember why he fell asleep in his car on a driveway in a neighbourhood that is definitely not his. "Fuck me," he mutters, remembering Brad's disappointed look. "Fuck me to hell," he repeats, recalling why Brad had that look on his face. He's not sure what's worse, that he shoved Brad, that he was seconds away from hitting Brad, or the accusations he threw in Brad's face.

He opens the car door with an angry sigh and stretches his stiff muscles. The last thing he wants to do is face Brad but he can't hide out on Brad's driveway forever and he needs his keys and phone in order to leave. He's surprised to find Brad's front door is already open – only the screen door remains closed – and Nate can see Brad sitting at the kitchen island reading the paper. He's wearing the same clothes from last night and Nate wonders if Brad slept at all. He feels a pang in his heart thinking Brad probably spent the entire night sitting at that very spot in the kitchen, waiting and hoping Nate would do something, anything but hide in his car like a coward.

Nate doesn't feel comfortable just walking into Brad's house so he raps on the screen door twice. He's pretty sure Brad left it opened for him, but after last night, Nate needs an invitation. Brad looks up. Unlike his greeting over the past couple of days, there's no smile when his eyes meet Nate's, nor is there any emotion. Only his blue eyes betray his exhaustion.

Brad waves him in. Nate flashes an awkward grin and heads for the kitchen. His phone and car keys are neatly lined up on the kitchen island, across from where Brad is sitting, and a steaming cup of coffee rests in between. Nate sits and sips the coffee slowly. Aside from waving him in earlier, Brad hasn't acknowledged his presence at all. Nate wants to ask what Brad s reading, maybe have one of those intellectual discussions he always loved having with Brad, but he knows that's the last thing Brad wants to talk about right now. Nate needs to apologize, but how do you apologize for fucking up as badly as he did last night?

"What I said last night," Nate begins, "I don't even know how to apologize for that."

"In my experience, sir," Brad replies, not looking up from the paper, "people generally start apologies with the words I'm sorry."

Oh, so, he's back to being sir again. Nate supposes he deserves that, but it still hurts.

"Those words don't even begin to explain how sorry I am. It was awful," Nate shakes his head and corrects himself. "i_I/i_ was awful. I really fucked up. I'm just … You know I'm going through some fucked up shit since we got back and I overreact sometimes. Don't worry though okay? I won't say anything to anyone. I know how important being a Marine is to you. I'd never jeopardize your career that way."

Brad shoves the paper aside and leans over the kitchen island, forcing Nate to look him in the eyes. "Is that what you think this is about?" Brad gives him the once over, anger all over his face. "Fucking DADT? Jesus fucking Christ, Nate, I thought you had more fucking sense than that. Do you think I'd take a risk like this for a quick fuck? If it were just about getting laid, I'd call a goddamn service and pay for it."

Nate stutters. Did Brad just admit that he has romantic feelings for him? This is so far out of character for both of them that he wonders if maybe he really does have PTSD and all this is going on in his head because there is no way this is happening. They're both straight. They like women. They like the way women look, the way they feel, and the way they smell. They're straight. Nate wonders when this happened. And most of all he wonders why Brad wants him when he could have his pick of anyone he wanted. "This is too much," he mumbles.

"Too fucking much? You wanna know what's too much Nate Fick? There are men who dig fucking ranger graves in their backyard because they can't sleep in their own beds, some guys accidently hit their wives because they thought they were being attacked when their wives were only trying to wake them up from a fucking flashback nightmare, some men can't look at their own kids anymore because all they see are the dead kids over there. That's going through fucked up shit. You," Brad pokes his finger into Nate's chest, "are just trying to use that as a cop out because the war crushed your liberal ideals."

Nate slumps in his chair. Leave it to Brad to make him feel like shit for feeling like shit. "I know there are guys much worse off than I am, but I don't fucking know what's wrong so I definitely don't know how to make this go away. Do you have any idea how helpless that makes me feel?"

"I know," Brad replies softly. He is anger is gone, but he turns away from Nate and stands looking outside the window above the sink.

Nate can hear children playing outside, laughing and shrieking as they run though the sprinkler and he smiles briefly, remembering when he used to do that with his sister and how great the water felt on humid days. Life was much simpler then and Nate would give anything to have that kind of normalcy in his life again. He watches Brad's profile as Brad watches the children playing. He wonders if Brad did that with his sisters too, and further wonders if Brad is recalling his own happy childhood memories. He hopes he is but one look at Brad tells him that's not the case.

"You know that you didn't take advantage of me, right? When I said that I was just talking without thinking," Nate whispers, hoping is soft tone will make Brad feel better. "I knew what I was doing."

"I know."

"But last night was a mistake. I should have stopped it," Nate shakes his head. He can tell he's going to start rambling. He's slightly ashamed; he used to have better control of himself. "You're my best friend right now, you know? Fuck, let's be fucking honest, you're my only friend. Everyone else wants me to share what happened over there, but I can't. How do I talk about any of that when I don't want them to know any of it?"

Brad nods sadly and Nate knows that he gets it, that he probably feels the same way too. "You're not the only one who came back messed up Nate. I can't speak for everyone but I'm pretty sure that none of us talk about it with anyone who wasn't there. All of us are dealing with what we did out there. All of that stuff we pushed down in order to be combat effective has gotta come back up somehow, right? It's like our very own Catch-22."

"So how do we deal then?"

"We gravitate toward fellow Marines because we know they'll pull us up before we go under. Some of us forget that though, or we feel too ashamed to ask for help, or we don't know how to ask for help because as Marines, we're not supposed to need help."

"I guess we're all a little fucked up anyway, right?" Nate says, remembering when Brad had said that to him. It was only a little over a week ago, but it seems much longer than that to him.

"You know what the funny thing is in all this?" Brad asks, with an incredulous laugh. He still hasn't turned around and doesn't wait for Nate to answer. "You think I'm asking you for something and you're contemplating all the ways to turn me down, when I didn't ask you for anything in the first place. You just worked this all out in your Ivy League head. I thought that was going to happen, you know? And that's why I wanted us to talk last night."

"We can talk now."

Brad slams his fist on the counter. "What's the point when you won't hear what I'm saying?"

"I'm sorry," Nate says. He's been saying that a lot lately.

"I think it's time for you to go," Brad replies coldly.

Nate opens his mouth to protest, but instead snaps it shut, gathering his cellphone and car keys to head for the door. He turns to look at Brad, but Brad still hasn't turned his gaze away from the window. Nate wants to say goodbye but he thinks better of it and opens the screen door as quietly as he can and heads out. He's not sure if he's imagining it, but he thinks he hears Brad call out "Semper Fidelis" as the screen door bangs shut.

The next couple of days pass in a blur for Nate. He drinks to numb his feelings. His only physical activity is moving from his bed to his couch and back to his bed again. He misses running on the beach and swimming in the ocean, but since it takes most of his energy to get up to pee, he definitely doesn't want to attempt a run. His only company is the continuous drone of voices from his TV. It grounds his sanity, but does nothing for his loneliness. Nate hopes that this is rock bottom because he doesn't think he can handle feeling much worse.

On the fourth day since Brad kicked him out, Nate is lying on his stomach watching i_Fear Factor_/i when his phone rings. It's his sister and she lets him know that she's not pleased with him, not at all.

"What the fuck, Nate?" Sandy yells. "Mom is fucking freaking out!"

Nate doesn't know what she's talking about. He spoke to his mother yesterday and assured her that everything was fine and he tells his sister exactly that.

"Jesus Christ, I thought she was being dramatic. You do sound fucking worse than before. What the fuck happened?"

"I went to a fucking war," Nate snaps. He's not in the mood for being interrogated by his sister. She can practice her cross examination skills on someone else.

"Yea, well you didn't sound this bad when you got back. When the fuck are you doing to snap out of it? Mom wants to get on a plane and force you to come home. How can we convince her you're better off staying in San Diego when you're only getting worse?"

"I just need time."

"IT'S BEEN SEVEN FUCKING WEEKS!" Sandy yells. "Do you know that Dad had to convince Mom not to call someone in the Corps to say you have PTSD?"

That does it. Nate sits up with a start. "No no no no no. You can't let her do that. You fucking can't. They'll be at my door in seconds. They won't fucking leave me alone until they pick me apart and then I really will have PTSD. You cannot let her do that. Please."

"We know that you fucking moron. Dad took care of it for now, but you need to fix your shit, okay? If you don't, we will let her make that call. I mean it; you'll be on your own."

"Okay," Nate nods even though she can't see it. "Okay, I'll try."

"Good. And don't call Mom until you can figure out how to out on a happy face and fake that you're alright. Don't put her through anymore. The war was bad enough, but this," she takes a deep breath, "this is much worse."

Nate sighs and apologizes. He feels guilty and promises he won't worry her or their parents again. His sister is right. This has gone on long enough and Nate decides he's going to do what he can to get back into a routine so the next morning he forces himself to go for a run. He's hung-over but once his feet hit the sand he runs twice as far as he normally does and pushes himself to run faster and faster, enjoying the burn he feels in his underused thighs.

He's exhausted and sweaty by the time he gets home. He unlocks his front door thinking about a long hot shower and toaster waffles and finds Brad sitting on his couch, impossibly long legs stretched out on the coffee table. He's watching TV and eating a bowl of strawberries. Nate glances at the shoe mat beside the front door where Brad's boots and helmet are neatly lined up.

"Hey," Brad mumbles, as if sitting in Nate's living room and eating strawberries is the most normal thing in the world.

"What the fucking fuck Brad?"

Brad raises an eyebrow and holds out the bowl to Nate. "Want some?"

Nate glares at the strawberries and then back up at Brad. He doesn't have any fucking strawberries in his fridge. "Where the fuck did you get those?"

"Farmer's Market." Brad's eyes flicker back to the TV.

Nate glowers. "Do you mind telling me how the fuck you got into my house?"

"Door was unlocked?" Brad retorts cheekily.

"No, it was not." Nate knows this. He remembers locking it before going out for his run because the keys fell from his hand and landed in the bushes. He cursed loudly, earning him an admonished look from a neighbour who was passing by with her young toddler. He fished out his keys and then locked the door before running in the opposite direction of his neighbour.

"Window?"

Nate looks at the windows in his living room, all of which are closed since he has the air conditioning turned on. He frowns and grits his teeth. He's starting to get irritated.

"No, that's impossible. If you tried that the alarm would go off and someone would have called me. There's no way you opened one of those windows, made it over to the other side of the room, and disabled the security system with a password you don't have in under thirty seconds. That's impossible. "

"I'm the Iceman; nothing is impossible."

"That's fucking impossible Brad!" Nate's a few seconds away from stomping his foot on the ground. He hasn't been this frustrated with another individual since Encino Man and Casey Kasem threatened his career.

"I didn't say which window I used," Brad offers, licking strawberry juice from his lower lip. He's still watching the TV show, answering as if Nate is annoying background noise, which only grates on Nate's already frayed nerves. "And I didn't say that I i_opened_/i the window either."

If Nate could shoot daggers with his eyes, there would be a severely injured Marine on his floor. There is only one open window in his home, but it's in his bedroom, which is on the second story of his house. "You fucking scaled my house?"

"It was the quickest and most efficient way to get inside."

"So you got up this morning and decided, hey I'll go get strawberries from the Farmer's Market and then scale Nate's house?"

"Farmer's Market yes. House scaling no. I rang the doorbell but you didn't answer."

"That's because I was out."

"I was not aware of that at the time."

"So you thought you'd let yourself in and make yourself comfortable?"

"I considered waiting on your doorstep but then I remembered that the most common and preventable injuries occur in the home. I had to make certain you hadn't fallen down and hit your head or something worse. And you know sir, as a fellow Marine, I was obligated to make that hadn't happened."

Nate rubs his temples. He feels a massive headache coming on. "How long have you been squatting in my house?"

Brad smiles at that. "Long enough to fix your computer. You do know that captainfick is a shitty password, right?"

"That's not my password."

"Not anymore. I changed it to bradcolbertisafuckinggenius," Brad looks up and grins, "all lower case, all one word."

Nate is convinced Brad is lying but he dashes over to his laptop anyway and boots it up. He types in his password, which is a series of letters and numbers, and scowls when an alert message pops up. He types it again to no avail. He tries a third time, typing each letter as slowly as possible, ignoring Brad's giggling in the background and curses loudly when it doesn't work. With a glare, he types bradcolbertisafuckinggenius and almost throws his laptop across the room when it boots up. He scans the drives quickly and sighs in relief to see that his notes for his book are untouched. He hopes Brad didn't find them.

Nate rubs his temples. Brad fucking Colbert is more exhausting and annoying than Ray Person on Ripped Fuel. "Why?" he asks, ashamed that he sounds defeated.

Brad shrugs. "I got bored waiting for you. Oh by the way, I didn't just get strawberries at the market. There's fresh mango juice too."

Nate's eyes go wide as forgets his anger and he heads for the kitchen. He loves mango juice. "You better not be joking about this." He yanks the door and sure enough, sitting on the shelf in the middle of his mostly empty fridge is a bottle of mango juice. He pours a large glass and finishes it in three gulps. It's so delicious that he pours another glass. He returns to the living room and sits on the couch beside Brad.

"So does this earn me a reprieve from Nate Fick's glare of death?"

Nate steals the last strawberry. "Not that I don't appreciate the juice and fresh fruit, but do you mind telling me why you're here?"

Brad huffs and looks at Nate, a small smile flickering on his face. "Why can't you just say thanks Brad, I'm happy to see you?"

Nate finishes his juice and puts the empty glass on the coffee table. "Thanks Brad, I'm happy to see you," he mocks. He stands and stretches his arms over his head. "I need a shower. You gonna stick around for a bit?"

Brad nods and turns back to the television, "let me know if you need a hand meeting any grooming standards."

Nate flips Brad off and hears Brad's laughter as closes the bathroom door. He's not sure if it's the shower or the run or Brad showing up unexpectedly or a combination of everything but after his shower he feels refreshed and better prepared to deal with Brad. He goes back to the living room and smiles when he sees that his glass of mango juice has been refilled. He sips it slowly this time and watches as Brad flips through a magazine.

"Brad," he begins, taking a deep breath, "why are you here?"

"I already told you that," Brad replies with a distracted sigh.

"You were bored so you broke into my house? That's not an explanation."

"Not that. No Marine left behind, remember? You need me." Nate opens his mouth to protest but stops when Brad shakes his head. "Once a Marine, always a Marine, Nate. Whatever the fuck it is you're going through, you need me, so this is where I should be. You know you'd do the same if any of us showed up on your door right now. So, we're going to get you through this okay?"

Nate nods. He's glad that Brad showed up. He missed him and if he's going to keep the promise he made to his sister, he needs all the help he can get.

"When was the last time you got out and did something fun?" Brad asks.

"Sunday at your place," Nate says sheepishly. He expects to be mocked by the Iceman for his lack of a social life.

Brad doesn't judge him though. He just nods and drums his fingers on the coffee table. "Well, it just so happens that the greatest movie ever is playing downtown. If we leave now we can make the matinee. I'll even leave my bike here and let you drive."

"What movie?" Brad thinks Air Supply is the greatest band ever and Nate's not sure he wants to find out if that definition of great translates over to movies.

"Battlefield Earth."

Nate laughs so hard he almost falls off the couch. "I'm pretty sure that's i_not_/i the greatest movie ever. In fact, I think that's actually considered to be one of the worst movies of all time."

Brad waves him off. "Have you even seen it?"

"No but I've read about it."

"It's just like an Ivy League grad to read about a movie instead of fucking watching it. Is that supposed to be some kind of artistic irony? Like spoken work art?"

Nate holds up his hands in mock surrender. He doesn't want to get Brad going on a tirade about anything, let alone the performing arts. "Okay okay, will you shut the fuck up about this if I agree to see the fucking movie?"

Brad flashes a victorious smile. "I'll try to keep my mouth shut for the movie's running time."

Nate shakes his head. He's pretty sure Brad won't do that. He's almost certain Brad's the kind of guy that makes sarcastic comments at every possible second. Nate thinks he might not mind that so much.

"You're aggravating, Brad."

"I know," Brad smirks, "but imagine how awful and boring your life without this?"

"I'm assured it would be pretty fucking awful," Nate replies, stepping into his shoes.

"I missed you too," Brad offers with a wink.


	5. Chapter 5

The movie theatre is one of those older ones with the ticket book outside and only one screen inside. Nate falls in love with theatre almost immediately. It's kitschy but cool at the same time. He shares this with Brad who smiles brightly creating a stirring warmth in the pit of Nate's stomach. Nate supresses the urge to reach out and take Brad's hand in his own and tries to ignore how this causes his fingers twitch mournfully. Brad tells him that the theatre only plays older movies and how he used to cut school during the theatre's tribute to sci-fi month. "I bet you were the kind of kid that didn't cut school," Brad says affectionately. "I imagine you loved high school too."

"I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it either. And no, I didn't cut school. It was a Jesuit school. They took attendance at the start of every class. It was strict. If I had unexplained absences I couldn't play sports."

"That sounds just like military school, except our parents sent there because we had existing discipline issues."

Nate tries to picture Brad as that rebellious kid, gangly with disproportionate limbs, maybe even with long hair, not yet in touch with his Iceman personality, just a normal kid doing normal kid things, like cut school and give his parents a hard time. It makes Nate smile and he makes a mental note to ask Brad to see pictures of him as a kid.

They buy their tickets and head inside to the snack counter. It takes them ten minutes to decide what to get, before selecting popcorn, sodas, whoppers, and, on Brad's insistence, a large bag of Skittles.

The newly-renovated theatre is completely empty. Brad remarks that it's pretty cool to have the entire place to themselves for only the cost of only cheap matinee tickets and snacks and Nate counters that it's probably empty because no one wants to pay anything to see this movie.

"I'll remind you of that comment when the credits roll," Brad says as he drapes his legs over the seat in front of him and slouches down. He looks up at Nate expectantly. "Let a pimply-assed brat come in here and tell me to put my legs down," he sips his soda, "I bet I could make him piss his pants with one look. I wouldn't mind testing that theory out to be honest." Nate's pretty sure Brad could make a General piss his pants with one look, but he decides to keep that to himself since the last thing Brad's ego needs is more boosting. He settles in next to Brad, draping his legs over the chair too. He may not be as tall as Brad, but he's still taller than most people and the aisles in the theatre are rather narrow to accommodate the larger seats. Besides, if he's going to spend the better part of two hours watching a shitty film, he'd like to be comfortable.

"I can't believe you haven't seen this," Brad says as he shovels popcorn into his mouth. It's a buttery gooey mess because Brad had insisted on extra butter and added jalapeno cheese seasoning to the bucket afterwards. If they were anything but two Recon Marines just back from Iraq Nate would worry about clogged arteries and other health issues, but he's pretty sure that MREs helped build up a resistance to that, at least that what he tells himself as he grabs a handful of popcorn. He's surprised that the concoction Brad brewed up is delicious and reaches for more. He didn't realize he was ravenous and rips open the bag of whoppers popping four into his mouth. He laughs silently and shakes he head. He hasn't gorged himself on junk food like this since he was a teenager.

"Ohh, it's starting!" Brad squeaks as the lights start to dim. He points at the screen, "watch the opening scene! It will crack your shit up. The acting is so ridiculous that it's fucking hilarious."

"Brad," Nate admonishes jokingly, "I thought you were going to keep your mouth shut."

"I said I'd _try_," Brad amends. "I didn't say how much effort I'd put into it."

"Brad, you are-"

"—I know, I know," Brad cuts him off, "I'm annoying, but stop pretending you don't love it and sit back and enjoy the Brad Colbert experience."

"So this is an experience now?" Nate chuckles.

"Some might even call it a privilege."

Nate rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the screen. The commercials are over and the film is finally starting. "Wait," Nate wrinkles his nose as the intro scrolls up the screen, "Their planet is called Psychlo? Is this for real?"

"Wait, wait," Brad laughs. "Wait, this only gets better."

Moments later, Nate clutches his stomach and his laughter echoes through the theatre. "Why are they dressed like it's prehistoric times? I thought this was the year 3000? We reverted to when man invented the wheel because some aliens took over?"

"And we're not even five minutes in," Brad reminds him. "I told you this is fucking awesome."

Half-way through the movie, Nate's stomach hurts from laughing so hard for so long. He alternates between laughing at the movie and laughing at Brad's comments. "Oh my god, this music, Brad, I fucking can't handle it. Don't they know that makes everything worse?"

"Clearly you mean it makes everything better," Brad retorts.

The scene with the gold bars has Nate hunched over and clutching his stomach and the final battle scene has him in tears. He would be on the floor if he hasn't spilled his soda earlier in a fit of hysterics. When the theatre lights are on, Nate is still chuckling.

"Didn't I tell you it's the greatest movie ever?" Brad asks.

"I don't think it was supposed to be funny, Brad."

"It's the outcome that matters, Nathaniel. And the outcome is that you laughed your ass off for two hours."

"Point," Nate agrees.

They stop off for supper on their way home and eat fish tacos on the beach. They laugh over their favourite parts of the movie. Nate picks the boardroom scene. "I'm totally going to say 'Are you not aware that I graduated top of my class?' from now on. That line is fucking gold. I bet you like the scene with the learning machine," Nate laughs. "I imagine you've already thought up how you could use something that on your commanding officers."

Brad raises an eyebrow and Nate knows he's not that far off base. He takes a bite of his taco and chews thoughtfully as he watches the ocean. "This, just sitting by the ocean, is one of my favourite things to do," Nate adds. "It's funny because one of my girlfriends in college grew up in Florida. She always grumbled about missing the ocean. I thought it was ridiculous. I didn't realize how much I was going to love the ocean until I moved here. Now I can't imagine not seeing it every day."

Brad makes a discerning noise from the back of his throat so Nate turns to look at him. "I need," Brad takes a deep breath. "I need to say something and then I promise I'll never bring any of this up again."

"Brad," Nate swallows. "We don't need to get into this."

"I _need_ to," Brad says after few moments. "I thought my feelings were obvious and that night," Brad shrugs, "you just looked so irresistible that I couldn't help myself. I know it's a poor excuse, especially since we're Recon Marines, but I'm sorry Nate. I'm sorry for all of it."

"You don't need to be sorry. It's okay now, right?"

Brad takes a deep breath and turns to face Nate. Nate sees longing and desire in his blue eyes and that warmth he felt at the movie theatre stirs inside him again. He wants to touch Brad again and he wrings his hands together to keep them occupied. With a soft sigh, he turns away from Brad. "We should go," Nate whispers.

"Okay," Brad agrees.

The drive back to his place is mostly silent. Brad fiddles with the radio, cursing through the country, hip-hop and R&B music stations. He settles on a pop music station that's playing an Avril Lavigne song just as Nate pulls into his neighbourhood. Brad smiles in Nate's direction and as he steps out of the car.

They stand awkwardly at Nate's front door. Nate doesn't want the evening to end, but he's not sure how to ask Brad to stay, especially considering what happened at the beach. He watches as Brad bends to pick up his helmet and pull his keys from his pocket.

"Thanks for today," Nate tells him. "It was fantastic, exactly what I needed."

"Yea, it was fun." Brad looks like he wants to hug Nate, but he steps backward instead and puts his hand on the doorknob. "So uhh, I'll call you tomorrow."

"You maybe wanna stick around and get drunk?"

"I should go. The last thing I need on top of all the speeding tickets on my driving record is a DUI."

"Okay, but I think I should probably give you the sit-rep so you can make an informed decision."

"Oh?" Brad raises an eyebrow.

Nate nods twice. "Yep. I have a bottle of Glenfiddich that my father gave me when I got back. I haven't opened it yet and I have it on good authority from a very inebriated Corporal Person that the bed in my spare room is the _motherfucking shit yo_."

"You know you can't take Ray's word on that. He grew up in a fucking trailer park. He thought sleeping in the Humvee was a five-star hotel," Brad smiles. "That said, I suppose it's a crime against humanity to let a bottle of Glenfiddich just sit there."

Nate tries to contain his glee but he's pretty sure it's all over his face. He grabs the whisky and two tumblers from the kitchen as Brad toes off his boots. Brad fills the glasses, hands one to Nate and holds his up, "to Bravo Two," he says, and they down their shots while standing.

Twenty minutes later they have moved from the couch to the floor and pass the bottle between them. They talk about the scrapped bridge mission, Brad is still bitter about that, the kids Trombley shot, Pappy and the people from the villages they visited after. Nate isn't sure if it's the aided by the strong alcohol or spending the better part of a week alone, but unlike their previous discussions, this is a sombre revisit to their time in Iraq. These are the thoughts and memories they had to repress to do their jobs.

"Do you remember the girl outside the amusement park?" Brad asks. He's in a drunken haze, still alert but slightly slurring his words.

Nate nods slowly. He doubts he'll ever forget her. "Suhar. Her name was Suhar. Her mom spoke English."

"What do you think happened to her?"

"I hope she got the help she needed and is home with her parents right now."

"But what do you _think_ happened? Don't sugar coat it. I'm a big boy."

It pains Nate to admit this, "I think she probably died from the infection or she and her parents were killed either accidentally by us or intentionally by insurgents."

"Yea," Brad takes a long sip from the bottle and passes it to Nate. "I can't get her parents out of my head. I remember watching her dad while Doc was treating her. I think he knew his family was going to get shot but he had to try to save his daughter. So he just kept pressing ahead even though he probably knew. He looked so helpless when they pulled up but after we started helping, I think I saw a flicker of hope in his eyes. After everything, he still hoped he could save his child. It fucking sucks that no one out here will ever hear that story."

"Maybe I'll put it in my book." Nate says it before he can stop himself. He curses the alcohol for loosening his tongue.

"You're writing a book?"

There's no point in denying it now. "I'm thinking about it. It's just a vague idea now though."

"You should do it," Brad insists excitedly. "Most people probably think we're assholes who thrive on the glory of combat because we get to kill people, but it's not just about that. It's about helping liberate people who've been forced to live under a dictator for years. You could tell our story and all the other stories that need to be told."

"You say that as if people outside the Corps are actually going to read it."

"They will," Brad maintains. "Civilians have this fascination with war. That's why war movies are so popular even years after the war took place. I bet you could turn that book into a bestseller."

Nate tries to smile. "I'm not sure I want to relive that again. Those children we shot, Pappy, everything else. My heart aches when I remember all the kids who died, our hands or not, but those kids. They were so innocent. Their parents should hate us, but most of them don't. I don't understand that. Why don't they hate us?"

"Because they're not insurgents with hate in their hearts. They're decent people who were trying to live their lives and maybe they recognized that we were just doing our jobs. Maybe they hoped we'd help free them from Saddam, which we did, even if we left the place fucked up."

"You think we at least did some good out there?"

"I think so yea, but I don't think we did enough. I think … I think unintentionally we helped create a new brand of insurgents. Some of those boys we saw, they were what, five or six years old, maybe eight at the most? If we're still doing this in ten years, we might have to fight some of those kids we gave chocolate bars to. It keeps me up at night thinking I might go back and see those same kids holding AKs. That's not the life I want for them. I want them to be normal kids and do normal things that kids should do."

Nate sucks in a breath and chokes back his tears. He wants those things for the Iraqi people too. Drinking as much as he did and asking Brad to stay was a bad idea.

"So yea," Brad murmurs, "you should write a book. Those articles were great but I'm not sure it was enough. You're the only one who can do it Nate. I have faith that you'll show them what it's like for us."

Nate makes a noise and buries his face in his hands. He tries to hold back his tears, but it's too late for that now. Brad puts an arm around him and tries to pull him closer but Nate shoves him away. He doesn't need to be comforted and he certainly doesn't need Brad to pity him. Instead of letting go, Brad only tightens his hold. Nate tries shoving him away again but Brad isn't deterred. Finally, Nate gives in. He presses his face into Brad's shoulder, hugs Brad as tight as he can, and sobs and sobs. He sobs for the kids that were killed on his orders, the parents who had to bury their babies, for Pappy, and for their Marines brothers that died in battle and the ones who came back fighting demons.

He's not sure how long they sit there on his living room floor but when he pulls away and wipes his eyes he sees that Brad's face is wet with his own tears too. It makes him smile because of course Brad managed to cry with dignity and grace while he turned into a blubbery mess.

He wants to thank Brad, because this more so than the movie, was exactly what he needed. It's not absolution – Nate knows he's the only person who can give himself that – but it still feels freeing. Nate squeezes Brad's shoulder and smiles when Brad cups his face in his hand. Brad's fingers are rough but Nate likes how it feels and leans into the touch. From the corner of his eye, he sees Brad lean forward. He thinks Brad is going to kiss him so he opens his eyes and licks his lips in anticipation. That kiss he desires doesn't happen. Brad just presses their foreheads together. It's intense and wrought with an emotion he hasn't felt in a while, but Nate can't help feeling disappointed that Brad didn't kiss him.

When Brad strokes the side of his face tenderly and pulls him close, Nate doesn't fight it this time. He presses against Brad's side and falls into a restful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

When Nate wakes up the next morning, his head is pounding and his throat is so parched that he's pretty sure he's dying. He opens his eyes slowly and gradually takes in his surroundings. The first thing he notices is that he's on the floor with his head in Brad's lap. Nate sits up and winces when he sees that he left a small puddle of drool on Brad's jeans. "Shit," he mumbles which causes the pounding in his head to increase. The last thing he sees is that the bottle of Glenfiddich is practically empty. He's pretty sure that when his father gave it to him with instructions to enjoy making it home sound and alive, he didn't intend for the majority of it to be consumed in one night.

Nate staggers to the kitchen and grabs a huge bottle of water from the fridge. He gulps a quarter of it and grimaces. He hasn't been this hung over in his life, not even when he was in college. He hears Brad mumble and curse and stumbles back to the living room. Brad is sitting up now, his eyes are open in thin slits and his large hands rub at his temples. Nate is comforted knowing Brad is just as bad off as he is and whispers as soft "morning" in Brad's direction.

"Uhh," Brad greets. "My head fucking hurts. How much did we fucking drink last night?" He looks up at Nate and his eyes go wide when he sees Nate clutching a bottle of water. He tries to reach for it, but Nate is too dehydrated to give it up, so Brad wraps a hand around Nate's ankle and looks at Nate mournfully.

Nate sighs, "does the puppy dog look usually work?"

"Usually yes," Brad stretches his hand for the water again and this time Nate hands it over. Brad chugs for a few minutes before wiping his lips on the back of his hand. "We need to get some fresh air," he suggests, "it'll help with the intense excruciating pain."

Nate would laugh at Brad's dramatic editorial, but he's in too much pain. "No way in hell am I going for run right now," he replies.

"So we can just walk. If we lie here this will only get worse." Brad rolls his jeans up over his calves and pulls off his socks. "Bring the water, we need to hydrate."

They share the bottle of water as they walk up the beach but don't say anything. They settle in secluded area side-by-side close to the tide so the waves can wash up against their feet and watch the early morning surfers catch the waves.

"You seem better today," Brad says finally, "massive hangover notwithstanding."

"I feel better," Nate admits. "I guess I needed to get that out, as irritating as crying like a blubbering idiot is."

"You're the furthest thing from an idiot, Nate."

"Well I think that's up for debate but thank you anyway."

Brad smiles and runs his hands though the sand. "When I was a boy, my dad and I used to do this every Sunday morning. We would get up early, drive out and sit on the beach. Sometimes we would talk; sometimes we wouldn't say anything at all. I used to hate it when he would wake me up early. I grumbled and whined because it was Sunday and I just wanted to sleep in, but he never let me have my way. Now? I'm so grateful he made me do that. It cemented something in me. To enjoy life, we need to take it in. We get caught up in living our lives and we neglect to take enough moments like this and just breathe."

Nate nods. He knows that most people, civilian or military, don't take time to enjoy the simple things in life and the fact that Brad does makes Nate admire him even more than he did before.

"I need to get going," Brad says with a regretful sigh.

"Oh, okay." Nate tries to hide his disappointment. He understands that Brad has a life of his own but only just got Brad back into his life. He doesn't want him to go away so soon.

"Yeah, I promised my mom and sisters that I'd spend the afternoon with them," Brad rolls his eyes. "We're going for lunch and then we're going shopping. My nieces are coming too. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Are you and your dad the only males in your family?"

"Yep and since good old Brad is hardly around, he gets to spend all kinds of quality time with the wonderful women in his life whenever he's stateside."

"So does Brad always speak like Godfather when he gets ready to meet up with his family?"

"Brad wants you to fuck off. He also wants you to know that he can come back later, probably after supper, if that's okay."

"Nate would like that."

After Brad leaves, Nate eats breakfast and takes a nap. He spends the rest of the day drinking water and going over notes for his book. He knocks off part of what he hopes will be the first chapter. He feels content, which is something he hasn't felt in a while, and even calls his family. They talk for over an hour and Nate hangs up with a smile on his face because he didn't have to pretend that he was feeling better. He actually is feeling better.

He thinks most of his positive outlook is because of Brad, the encouragement that he share their story and the unequivocal conviction that Nate did a good job as their lieutenant. Despite everything that happened between them and the appalling way Nate reacted afterwards, Brad still has faith in him, Brad still cares. Brad knew that Nate needed support so he put his hurt feelings aside. Nate feels that warmth spread through him again and he feels like an idiot. How did he not see this all along?

He's watching TV when Brad comes in through the patio door later that evening. He looks at Nate wearily as he drops a duffle bag on the floor and pulls off his boots and socks.

"Hey, I didn't hear your bike," Nate greets as Brad and flops on the couch. He lies horizontally and puts his feet in Nate's lap.

"I brought my truck. I thought we could take out the jet skis tomorrow. If you want, I mean."

"So you're planning on spending the night then?"

"I can leave if that's what you want." Brad responds sharply.

Nate grimaces and bites his lower lip. He doesn't say anything for a while. "I was just joking around. Of course you can stay."

"Shit. I'm sorry for snapping at you. I'm cranky," Brad rubs his face.

"Tough day at the office, dear?" Nate jokes.

"First it was lunch, then shopping, then more shopping. Brad does this shirt match my eyes, should I get the open-toed flats or the heels, Brad carry this, Uncle Brad carry me, Uncle Brad I wanna ride on your shoulders and eat my ice cream and I promise I won't spill it all over your shoulders but wait oh I will and then I'll laugh because hahaha it's funny Uncle Brad. And Brad don't glare at my child that way she didn't mean to spill ice cream all over you she's only three and Brad don't scowl at me that way I'm your mother, I changed your diapers so that Iceman shit doesn't work on me."

Nate laughs uncontrollably. He didn't know Brad was capable of ranting like this. "That sounds awful. How did you survive _Uncle_ _Brad_?"

Brad whines as he nudges Nate's arm with his bare foot. "I fucking walked everywhere all day. My feet hurt. Give me a massage."

"We walked everywhere in Iraq and you never complained once."

"That was different. That served a purpose. Well it sort of served a purpose. This was just aimless torture."

Nate wrinkles his nose. "I don't wanna touch your feet."

Brad wiggles his toes and looks at them quizzically. "Why not? I showered before I came here and I have nice feet."

"Hell no."

"Hell no, I don't have nice feet or hell no, you won't give me a massage?"

"I won't give you a massage."

"Hah, so you admit I have nice feet!"

Nate rolls his eyes and shoves Brad's feet from his lap. It doesn't work of course because Brad just puts them back. There's no fighting Brad when he has his mind set on something.

"Please?" Brad begs. He nudges Nate's arm with his foot again.

Nate sighs and takes Brad's left foot in his hand, ignoring the victorious smile Brad flashes him. He starts out at Brad's heel, pressing in with the pads of his thumb before moving up along the base of Brad's foot. He drags his fingers over the top of Brad's foot and presses his fingers into the pads of Brad's toes. Nate notes that Brad does have nice feet, almost too pretty for a warrior. He tells him just that and Brad gasps out a noise that's a cross between a laugh and a moan as Nate presses his knuckles into the arch of Brad's foot.

"So, you have a foot fetish, Nate?" Brad huffs.

"I'm not the one popping a woody right now." Nate licks his lips. He can't look away from the bulge in Brad's jeans. He places Brad's left foot in his lap and starts massaging the right one, repeating his successful technique.

Brad blushes. "You give a good foot massage. You have really nice, strong hands. They're almost as pretty as my feet." Brad presses the heel of his hand into his crotch and palms himself and at that, they each suck in a groan.

"You know," Nate says, "I may be a former officer, but I still feel responsible for my men so it's my duty to inform you that you should probably take care of your hard on. It's neither healthy nor safe to leave things like that."

"Are you proposing that I partake in a combat jack, sir?"

"Excuse me," Nate responds stoically. "I am Ivy League educated. I would never suggest something so vile outside of theatre. I'm merely that suggesting that your present condition is likely uncomfortable and concluding that you should relieve any pressure you might currently be feeling for the greater good."

Brad palms himself again. "I've always trusted your judgement sir and if you insist it's for the greater good –"

Nate cuts in, "I can assure you that it _is_ for the greater good Sergeant."

With a gleam in his eye, Brad lowers his zipper and shoves his hand inside. He grunts and licks his lips and Nate's body reacts by getting harder in his shorts. He finds this incredibly sexy and thinks Brad could make a lot of money doing this on the Internet and blushes bright red when Brad huffs out a teasing laugh about the perils of becoming an Internet porn star. Nate didn't realize he said that out loud and he looks away and focuses on kneading his thumbs into Brad's heel to hide his embarrassment.

"You're really good at this," Brad speaks softly, almost whispering. He fists himself harder and pushes his foot into Nate's touch. "Don't stop, okay?"

There's no way Nate is ending this now. The entire Marine Corps could show up on his doorstep and he wouldn't stop. Brad presses his left foot into the couch to get more leverage. He closes his eyes and arches up with a loud groan. Nate takes it in and grunts in disappointment. He can't see what Brad is doing to himself and that frustrates him.

"Lower," he demands sharply before he can stop himself. Nate doesn't recognize his own voice. He sounds rough, strained, and stressed. Brad doesn't respond and Nate's frustration increases. "Your jeans," he commands. "Move them lower. I want to see." The last part comes out like a whine but Nate is too far gone to care.

Brad's eyes fly open. His eyes are dark. He contemplates Nate's orders with raw intensity before slowly lowering his jeans to his thighs. Brad spreads his legs and Nate finally gets a good look at Brad's cock. He's seen it before, that's not something you can really avoid in combat, and he's touched it of course, but this is the first time he's actually looked at it unabashedly. It makes him groan. He shoves Brad's t-shirt up under his armpits and runs his hands over Brad's chest. He growls and rolls one of Brad's nipples between his forefinger and thumb, biting his lower lip when Brad shudders under his ministrations.

"Come on," Nate urges. "Come on. Touch yourself."

Brad nods and starts stroking himself again, much slower this time. Nate knows Brad is putting on a show for him and it makes him feel wanton and lucky all at the same time. Nate presses his lips to Brad's chest and starts sucking and licking everywhere at will, loving how Brad responds to every touch.

Nate half sits up and hovers over Brad's face. There's a bead of sweat above Brad's lips and Nate wants to taste it. He does, with just the tip of his tongue, and then licks a lewd swipe over Brad's lips. It's the first time they've done something this intimate and Nate presses their mouths together. It's a chaste kiss, especially considering what Brad is currently doing to himself and Nate means to pull away so he can watch again but Brad snakes his free arm around Nate's waist, holding him tight so he can kiss the breath from Nate's lungs. For a first kiss, it's depraved and filthy and it just about does Nate in.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck. I'm fucking close," Brad grunts into Nate's ear.

Nate manages to pull away this time because he definitely wants to watch this. He sits on his haunches, fixated as Brad squeezes his eyes shut and speeds up his rhythm. He wraps one hand around Nate's bicep and cries out Nate's name as he finds his release, coming all over his hands and chest. Nate bites his lip and trails his hand along the sheen of sweat covering Brad's neck. He watches in fascination as Brad trembles and pushes up into his touch. Nate closes his eyes and wishes he would have stuck around longer the first time they did this, when Brad was brave enough to make that important first move, because Brad like this is the most beautiful thing Nate has ever seen.

He wants to say this to Brad, but he knows that this is not the time for regret. Brad wouldn't appreciate that anyway. Nate yanks off his t-shirt and shoves his shorts and underwear down so he can get his hand on his straining dick. At that first touch he gasps in pleasure. He throws his head back and jerks himself in long languid strokes. He's going to come hard. He's going to come all over Brad's chest and then rub it into Brad's perfect skin.

"Come closer," Brad orders, not waiting for compliance but instead pulling at Nate's thighs so that Nate can't do anything but let go of his dick and fall onto that chest he was just fantasizing about. Nate presses his face into Brad's neck and inhales deeply. Brad smells like cologne and sweat and sex and Nate feels his neglected dick spasm in response.

He kisses Brad again and their teeth clank together until Nate pulls away so he can get some oxygen. Brad's lips are wet and swollen. Nate rubs his index finger along them and groans when Brad sucks it into his mouth. Nate pulls his finger out gently and pushes it back in again, well passed the knuckle. Brad takes it, sucking earnestly, never once taking his eyes off Nate's, and then Nate can't hold back anymore. He pulls his finger free, wipes Brad's saliva on himself and tightens his hand around his cock. He feels an unadulterated want, need, now now now running through all of his senses. He can't hear anything anymore, he can't even see. He just needs to get off. Brad grips his hips, pressing hard enough that Nate both wonders and hopes he'll have Brad shaped bruises there tomorrow and that thought does it. Nate throws his head back and jerks himself in rough strokes until he shoots ribbons of his come all over Brad's chest. Nate can't stop trembling. It was an intense orgasm and his body tingles everywhere. He's not even sure how he remembers to breathe. He gasps for air and flops onto Brad chest.

"Well, that was … unexpected," Brad whispers into Nate's ear. He wraps his arms around Nate and pulls Nate closer. "You were so fucking hot. That was better than any fantasy," Brad tugs at Nate's earlobe with his lips. "You're okay right?"

Nate caresses Brad's face. "Yeah, I'm okay Brad. You don't have to worry about a freak out this time." To make his point, he presses his face into Brad's neck and inhales. "Jesus, you smell so good."

"It's a special blend called Essence d'Iceman."

Nate laughs but stops short when he feels Brad's lips at his neck. It should be too soon for this but his dick twitches with interest anyway. His entire body twitches with interest. He tries to stifle his gasp but he knows Brad heard it anyway.

"I wanted to smell you too," Brad offers as way of explanation. He pulls Nate closer, squeezing his ass. "Let's jump in the shower. We can get dirty while pretending to get clean."

Nate rolls off Brad as much as he can within the confines of the couch. "You go ahead. I feel so good right now. I just wanna lie here for a bit."

"Aw, come on, I promise to be a perfect gentleman."

"That promise would be much more effective if your hand wasn't assaulting my ass at the same time."

"Sorry," Brad says, not sounding sorry at all.

"You're infuriating, Brad."

"I know," Brad strips off his clothes, stands and extends a hand to Nate. "Nate, this is the part where you tell me that I'm endearing."

Nate raises an eyebrow. "Endearing? You do realize that you're standing completely naked in front of my patio, right? The one with the big window that faces the beach? Anyone could walk by right now and see. I don't think my neighbours and their young kids would find the site of your naked body endearing."

"Of course they would. My nakedness is a gift," he winks. "Come on, I'm sweaty and sticky. I need someone to watch my six while I shower, you know for safety."

Nate blinks. "It's swim in the ocean Brad. You're not supposed to go in the ocean without someone watching your six." He stands and kicks off his shorts and underwear anyway. The idea of a shower with Brad is quite appealing.

"Hm," Brad looks at Nate thoughtfully. "Okay, I'm convinced. Let's go swimming instead." He grins teasingly and tries to steer Nate outside.

"No, no. We'll get arrested for public indecency," Nate laughs, trying to free himself from Brad's grip. It's no use though. For one, Brad is stronger than he is and two, Brad is kissing along his jawline and neck, which is distracting.

"So, we'll shower then," Brad whispers huskily, causing Nate to shiver.

"Does that tone of voice usually get you what you want?"

"Usually, yes."

In the shower, Brad massages shampoo into Nate's scalp, scraping short nails in all the right places. Brad's touch is rough, controlling and demanding. He takes everything he wants and gives back just as much. When the outpouring of lust and want from Brad starts to overwhelm him, Nate starts to shake. Brad capitalizes on that, shoving his tongue into Nate's mouth, kissing him sloppily and it's far too much far too soon but Nate doesn't care. It feels too good. He scratches at the nape of Brad's neck and rubs soapy hands all over Brad's body. It's like he can't get enough so he kisses Brad everywhere he can and grunts hungrily when Brad responds by pulling him closer and forcing one of Nate's legs up around his hip.

Nate reaches down and fists Brad's cock. It's nothing like the first time he did this for Brad. There's no hesitation this time, no second-guessing. He wants to do this. He needs it. He wraps one arm around Brad's shoulders for support and kisses at the spot behind Brad's ear, having discovered earlier that Brad really likes that. He squeezes and tugs at Brad's dick twice before Brad shoves him away with a strained glare. Brad turns off the water and pushes Nate out of the shower.

"What the hell, Brad? I was enjoying that."

Brad doesn't answer because his mouth is clenched together, lips forming a tense line. He all but drags Nate into his bedroom and throws him onto the bed. "I want to suck your cock and I'm not dropping to my knees in a bathtub if I don't have to. Is that a fucking problem?"

Nate opens his mouth to answer. He wants to tell Brad that's one of the hottest things anyone has ever said to him but his vocal chords won't cooperate. He scurries up the bed so he can rest his head against the pillows. He's already panting deeply and Brad's mouth isn't even on him yet. He gets out an "uhh" and then shudders when he feels Brad's lips lick at his hip and then his inner thigh. He spreads his legs and grabs at Brad's shoulder. "Oh fuck," he cries out when Brad wraps his lips around him. Brad bobs his head up and down, up and down, and Nate grunts and grabs at the back of Brad's head. At this rate, he's not going to last long. When Brad moves to suck at Nate's balls, it definitely is too much. Nate feels his balls tighten and he throws his head back into the pillows and chants Brad's name. Encouraged, Brad swallows him deep and Nate is oh so close, too close. He tries to shove Brad away to warn him that this is almost over, but Brad just shakes his head and Nate throws his head back again, keens loudly and comes.

Brad pulls off Nate's cock with a pop. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and smiles mischievously. He rests his chin on Nate's belly button and looks up with a sly smile before kissing his way up Nate's chest. He hovers when he gets close to Nate's face and presses their foreheads together. They link their fingers together and Nate sighs deeply when Brad kisses him tenderly. He can taste himself on Brad's tongue and he kisses back. There's a small voice in the back of his mind that tells him that kissing like this so openly right after Brad swallowed his come repulsive, but he can't will himself to pull away. He wraps a leg around Brad's waist and shoves up into Brad's kiss.

"Can I fuck you?" Brad's question forces Nate from his reverie. He can feel Brad's hard cock pressed against his hip. He looks at it again, this time with a different perspective, and his eyes widen. Fucking would be much different than hand jobs. He's not sure if he's ready for that. "I ... I don't know."

Brad looks down and then back up at Nate. It takes a few seconds before his eyes shine with recognition. "It's only a little bigger than yours."

"Yeah well I wouldn't shove my dick in my ass either."

"Kinky," Brad retorts as he sucks at Nate's neck. Despite himself, Nate arches into the touch. "Please?" Brad begs, "I'll be really gentle. You won't feel a thing." Nate snorts and Brad relents. "Okay, so you'll feel it, but I'll make it really good for you."

Nate's still not sure. Sex would really change everything between them. What if they mess things up? There would be no going back from this. Nate can't imagine living his life without Brad in it. Brad sees his hesitation and looks away. "We don't have to, Nate. All of this is already more than what I expected."

Nate turns Brad's face so he can look in his eyes. Brad doesn't look up at first, but Nate touches the side of Brad's face and it seems to convince Brad to look at him. "I'm just worried I'll fuck up," Nate murmurs. "I feel like you're miles ahead of me, like I need to sprint to catch up, but I won't ever catch up because you keep moving."

"It's just sex Nate."

"No, it's not. How can you say that when you all but told me you've already thought about this?"

"Okay fine," Brad relents and grits his teeth. "It's not just physical. And yes, of course I'm fucking miles ahead. I've had months to contemplate my feelings for you. I don't expect you to be where I am right now since this is still new for you. Now, do I hope you'll catch up? Absolutely, but I know there's a chance that might not happen. That's the underlying risk of relationships. If I tell you I'm okay with what we have right now, you need to trust that I know myself well enough to tell the truth. Do you trust me Nate?"

Nate sighs. Of course he trusts Brad. There are few people in his life that he trusts more than Brad. "Yes, I trust you."

"So," Brad looks down at his still hard dick and gives it a quick tug, "can I fuck you before my fucking dick falls off?"

Nate purses his lips. "I don't have any lube."

"Oh well, if that's your only objection, I have lube in my duffle bag. Condoms too."

"So you showed up here expecting to get laid, then?"

"Well case in point, it doesn't hurt to be prepared." Brad smirks and Nate feels himself getting excited all over again. He's not sure why he's fighting this anymore. He knows he cares for Brad and he's definitely attracted to him. He opens his mouth to say something just as Brad presses their lips together. There's no real force behind it, just the gentle press Brad's lips against his and when Nate pulls away and sees the intensity in Brad's eyes, he feels his heart swell with emotion. He takes a condom out of the nightstand drawer and drops it on the bed.

"You won't regret this," Brad whispers.

"I already don't," Nate replies.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, Nate wakes up alone to the sun streaming through curtains. He rolls over slightly, angling his body into the sunbeam that has found its way onto his bed. Nate loves the California sun. It feels nothing like the unpleasant East Coast humidity he grew up with. It's warm and inviting and Nate thinks he could get used to waking up like this.

He stretches his arms above his head and rolls over to press his face into onto the pillow on the other side of the bed. It smells earthy, like Brad's shampoo, and he takes a deep breath that he would deny if there were any witnesses to what he will forever refer to as an effect of PTSD because Nate Fick is not type that cuddles with pillows. No, he is not. At that thought, Nate shakes his head because he is in fact cuddling with a pillow – _cuddling with a pillow because of how it smells_ – and Nate wonders if he's having a bit of a quarter-life crisis. Isn't this how it usually goes? One day someone wakes up and starts questioning their life, the things they believe they want and need?

If someone a year ago had told Nate that this is what he'd be thinking about post-deployment, he would have laughed in their face, or maybe punched them for making erroneous assumptions about his sexuality. A year ago, hell, a few months ago, Nate was convinced he was a heterosexual. What he did last night was definitely not heterosexual. It was also pretty out of character. Nate is the first person to admit that he loves sex more than the average person but he's never been a one-night stand guy. He likes to date for a while and then have sex because he loves relationship sex. He likes getting to know his partner and then getting to know his partner's body, their likes and dislikes, and the things that make them curl their toes and cry in ecstasy.

Nate once had sex with a girl he had been dating after only three dates. It was the first and only time he ever engaged in the proverbial three-date rule and he really didn't like it. The sex was awkward and everything felt even worse afterward. It was definitely a case of too much too soon and when they broke up soon after, Nate found that he was relieved. Since then he hasn't rushed into sex. He'd rather take care of things with his own hand than deal with that kind of awkwardness again.

And that brings Nate to his current predicament. He likes how things are going with Brad. It's intense and exciting and it feels really good even though Nate isn't sure what he's feeling for Brad. He can't really identify what this is, he know he's definitely physically attracted to Brad and he likes how Brad makes him feel. What those two things mean, though? Nate's not too sure. It's more complicated since Brad is definitely far ahead of him in the identify-your-feelings game and that worries Nate the most. Brad knows that he wants Nate beyond just the physical but Nate still can't wrap his head around the fact that there is a physical aspect to their relationship, even if things last night didn't go as far as Brad had hoped it would.

Right, there had been that. Brad had finally come to bed a couple hours after he went downstairs, having been delayed by a random phone call from one Josh Ray Person. Nate had only caught part of the conversation, but from what he could ascertain, Ray was drunk and going off about how the skinny hos on America's Next Top Model were doing nothing to get him off. Brad had threatened Ray with castration but Nate guessed that Brad's threats were far less effective over the phone than they were face-to-face, backed-up by his Iceman glare. By the time Brad finally got off the phone, Nate had fallen asleep and the mood was gone. Brad slid into bed, kissed Nate's shoulder apologetically and promptly fell asleep.

Nate feels a slight twinge of relief and regret that they had been interrupted. Nate has always tried his best to be honest with himself so he admits that this thing with Brad is more than just a friends-with-benefits thing. He likes being around Brad. Brad is brilliant and most importantly, interesting. It helps that Brad gives off an energy that sometimes makes Nate's heart skip a beat, as pathetic as that may sound. Brad is important to him and Nate is determined not to ruin whatever this may become by moving things along too quickly. He just hopes when he shares this with Brad that Brad will understand that this isn't rejection, just slowing things down for a bit.

With a sigh, Nate climbs out of bed. He can smell pancakes, eggs, bacon, hash browns and most importantly, coffee so he brushes his teeth and shaves and goes downstairs to find Brad. He stops short when he catches a glimpse of Brad in his kitchen. Brad is dressed in sleep pants and isn't wearing a shirt. He's humming to himself, swaying his hips to whatever tune is in his head and Nate stands in the corner, just out of view, and watches with a smile on his face.

When Brad turns to grab a plate from the counter, he spots Nate and smiles softly through lowered eyelashes. Nate thinks he sees a hint of a blush on Brad's face, which he does not find endearing. No, he does not. "Morning," Brad says. He takes a few steps closer and smiles again, wider this time, his fingers lingering at Nate's waist. "How'd you sleep?"

There's something about Brad like this, affectionate and comfortable in domesticity, that warms Nate's heart. Nate steps into Brad's space. He smiles into Brad's neck. "I slept great. What about you? No case of the blue balls?"

"Fucking Ray," the flush in Brad's cheeks deepens. "That Whisky Tango cock-blocking fuck has the worst fucking timing. I swear to god my balls fucking shrivelled the fuck up when I saw his name on my phone."

Nate laughs. "Why did you even answer then?"

"Because," Brad whines. "It was fucking Ray Person. He does not give up. He would have called over and over until I picked up."

"You could have just turned your phone off." Nate suggests matter-of-factly as he snags a piece of bacon.

"Point, but what if something was wrong?" Brad shrugs and points at the fridge. "There's some of that fresh mango juice you love so much."

"Already? What time did you get up this morning?"

"Six."

"Jesus, do you ever sleep in?"

"I had somewhere to be," Brad replies. "The farmer's market usually runs out of that stuff pretty early and I also needed to get the provisions to make breakfast because all you had in your fridge was leftover Chinese food from fuck knows when, bottled water and beer."

Brad flips a pancake with practiced ease. He hands Nate a plate which Nate piles high with as much food as he can before sitting down at the kitchen island. Everything smells delicious and he digs in quickly, his eyes going wide when he finally gets a taste. This isn't some Aunt Jemima shit. These pancakes are homemade. When Nate opens his eyes he sees Brad looking at him fondly. He blushes. "I love buttermilk pancakes," he explains. "You should be careful though. I could get used to having someone cater to my needs and then there'll be no getting rid of me."

"Mm, well I happen to enjoy catering to your needs," Brad takes a sip of coffee. "Do you need a reminder of that Nate?"

Nate blushes but he recovers quickly to reengage the verbal sparring with Brad. "I might. If you recall, I was an Officer. According to popular culture, we're a bit slow on the uptake."

"Well, I'll be sure to keep that in mind for the next time, sir and put my best effort forward to ensure you don't forget again."

"Ensure that you do, Sergeant. Though I suppose I should start referring to you as Staff Sergeant now, shouldn't I?"

"Nate, if you want me to call you Captain and play the role of insubordinate Staff Sergeant, all you have to do is ask or you know, issue an order."

Nate chokes on a mouthful of food. His dick finds that idea appealing, making it that much more difficult for Nate to stick by the decision he made earlier in the morning. Nate's pretty certain this is going to kill him. They eat the rest of their breakfast mostly in silence, exchanging sections of the newspaper and occasionally reading parts of articles to each other. Nate shoves the dishes in the dishwasher and pours them each a third cup of coffee.

They watch the morning news and let their food digest and then Brad suggests they take out the jet skis.

Nate hasn't been jet skiing before and Brad, not surprisingly, is a willing and patient teacher. If Nate notices that Brad fingers linger a bit longer over his own while explaining how to use the hand controls, he doesn't mention it, but he certainly doesn't miss how good Brad looks in his form-fitting wet suit. Nate thinks if he were still in the Corps he'd suggest this as a new uniform – DADT be damned – and tries his best to focus when Brad explains about speed, safety and how Nate should shift his body weight for control. When Brad finally wraps up his meticulous overview of watercraft, Nate all but runs out into the water and jumps onto his jet ski.

"You are a child, Nathaniel," Brad admonishes as he climbs onto his jet ski.

"Yep," Nate agrees. "Can we go out now?"

"Take it slow at first okay? I don't want to have to call your mother and say you survived Iraq only to bite it while jet skiing near Oceanside Pier."

"Yea, yea, yea," Nate waves Brad off and starts up the jet ski. "I'm a Recon Marine; I've been through Advanced Water Survival training for whatever fucking good that did me in the fucking desert. I think I can handle this."

They stay out for few hours. Nate could get used to the beach life and tells Brad he can't wait to go out again. He tells Brad he wants to try surfing next time and feels his heart clench at the brilliant smile Brad flashes in his direction. It amazes Nate at how simple and uncomplicated it is to make Brad happy.

"So, I think we need to talk." Nate shifts in the deckchair and sips some water. He's in only his swimming trunks – his discarded wet suit is handing on the deck rails – and he can't help but notice that Brad is not-so-subtly admiring his body.

"Oh," Brad replies, looking away. "I thought … I thought we had fun today. I wasn't expecting the 'it's not you it's me' speech this soon. I've heard this so often I'm beginning to think it _is_ me." He dries his hands on a towel and moves to the other side of the deck.

"Wait, that's not what this is Brad."

"What is this then?" Brad's voice is cold and distant. He turns to look at Nate and his eyes look pained, disappointed and Nate hates that he put that there. "I won't deny that I tend to lean toward martyrdom, but I truly never thought I'd meet someone who was more of a self-sacrificing twat than I am."

"I'm not being a martyr," Nate insists. "Would let me finish what I want to say before jumping down my throat?"

"Fine," Brad grits his teeth and for added measure crosses his arms across his chest just to prove that this situation is so not fine.

"I just… I think we should take this inside." Nate keeps his voice low. The last thing either of them need is for someone to overhear this conversation.

"Fine," Brad repeats. Once inside, he stands with this back to the window and refuses to look Nate in the eye. "Well?"

Nate takes a deep breath. "I think… I think we're moving too quickly and –." 

"You could have picked a more appropriate time to bring this up, you know, maybe before you had your dick in my mouth."

"I didn't fucking ask you to do that," Nate yells. He groans inwardly and takes a deep breath. This is not how he wanted this conversation to go.

"Yea, but you didn't try to stop me either. So that's all last night was then? You did all that because you just needed somewhere to put your dick?"

"No! I didn't mean it like that. Would you please just calm down and listen to me? I'm just trying to say that this is just a little much all at once."

"_This_," Brad spits with his familiar mocking tone and Nate knows Brad has shut down in an effort to protect himself. "Fucking _this_? I'm honoured to find out that you've summarized our relationship in such simple terms."

Nate sits on the couch and rubs his eyes. This is a side of Brad he's never seen before and he's not sure how to handle it. "After you left yesterday to meet your family I started thinking about things, about you, about us. You've really been there for me. Even though I really fucked up after what happened at your place."

"So it was pity. Gee, thanks a lot. That makes me feel so much better."

"Let's get one thing clear right now: last night wasn't about pity. Not even fucking close. It wasn't something that just happened either, like how it was like back at your place. That was … I don't even know what that was," Nate waves his hand in the air. "I know I'm not making sense. I just don't know how to articulate it. Last night was different. It feels different. _I _feel different. Now there's dealing with my physical attraction to my best friend, which is a bit of a big fucking deal. I think I'm handling it better than most men would," Nate takes a deep breath. "Then there's a chance we could really fuck this up, which is a huge fucking deal. Then there's fucking Don't Ask, Don't Tell which is an enormous fucking deal because if we get caught this will fuck with your career. I don't want that on my conscience. So, I'm a little scared."

"So you just want to give up before we even get going? I thought," Brad shakes his head. "I don't know what I thought but I expected more than this."

Nate sighs. He hears what Brad isn't saying, that he expected more than this _from him_. "What do you want me to say? I like you Brad, okay? If we were in elementary school I'd tease you mercilessly and tug on your pig tails. If we were in high school I'd ask you to prom. If this were college, I'd ask you to be my study partner. But we're not in any of those situations. It's more complicated for a number of reasons and you know it. I'm not saying no, I just want to slow down a bit. I want to get to know you."

"You know me better than people who have known me my entire life."

"I meant outside of combat. Where I'm not the LT and you're not my TL."

"What if you don't like that guy? I've been told he's difficult to deal with."

"What? You thought you could keep that guy from me forever?"

Brad looks away. "Not forever, just for a little while."

"I happen to think you're great the way you are, even now with all this drama, you're still pretty much awesome."

"Yea?" Brad's smile is all teeth and Nate is once again surprised at how easy it is to make Brad happy. Brad smirks and stalks over to Nate. His gait is predatory and Nate feels his body respond in all the places it shouldn't since he's the one suggested slowing things down. Oh and since when does he find this attractive?

Nate laughs out a moan when Brad kisses his neck. "Cheater," he mumbles. "I already admitted I'm attracted to you. What are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing," Brad says. He holds Nate's face in his hands. "I'm sorry I freaked out on you earlier. I jumped to conclusions before gathering the proper intel. It … it was unfair and I apologize."

"It _was_ unfair, but I'll forgive you since patience is a trait earned in OCS."

"Nate, did you just make a joke at the expense of enlisted men?"

"I believe that I did." Nate pushes himself into Brad space and wraps his arms around Brad's neck.

Brad sighs contently and hugs him back. "I'm kind of scared too," he admits with a whisper. "You … my feelings for you … they terrify me. If you want to slow down, I'm okay with that because it means I get to keep you around a little bit longer."

"I tell you I have significant feelings for you and you respond by saying you think we're temporary?"

"Every good thing has an expiry date, Nate. Inevitably, you'll find something you don't like and you leave."

"Maybe," Nate replies, steadfast as he grasps Brad's hand in his own and interlocks their fingers. "Or maybe I'll find that I have a million reasons to stay. What are you going to do then?"

Brad looks down at their joined hands and sighs. "I don't know."

"Well you should probably prepare for that, you know, just in case."


End file.
